Truth Is
by Khaila
Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you. Not HBP
1. Prologue The End and the Beginning

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: Prologue

Author name: Brittney

Author email: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: This story was inspired by the song, "Truth Is" by Fantasia. I know I need to be writing on "Hogwarts Class of 2026" but at the moment I'm stuck so I decided to start this to clear my head. This story is set almost a decade after Hogwarts and five years after the war.

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Prologue**

_The rain poured down loudly and relentlessly occasionally joined by a clap of thunder and a flash of lightening, while the wind blew lazily and the rain followed its every whim. The sky was dark and was covered with thick white rain clouds that illuminated the dark, rainy, night with something akin to light. It was a frightfully saturnine night and Hermione seemed to be feeling the effects of it all or it could have been the scene that she had just been privy to see._

_"Don't touch me," she growled as Blaise tried to reach out to her in defense._

_"Hermione," he pleaded softly, as he ran his fingers over his sweaty face and hair._

_"Do not say my name," she demanded as she finally back into the wall, her eyes squeezed tight, she could still see the blond's back arch sensually as Blaise thrust into her, Hermione thought she would vomit._

_"Come on," Blaise pleaded as she opened her eyes and ran toward the door, "let me explain!"_

_"What is there to explain?" Hermione yelled, her entire body shaking as tears began running down her cheeks faster as the moments went on._

_"I love you," he whispered, his eyes pleading with her to stop._

_"No!" she screamed, as the sound of her heartbeat began to echo in her ears and the rain pounded relentlessly on the rooftop._

_"Hermione," Blaise whispered, in a tone entirely too soothing for the current situation facing them, "if you - you would just calm down-"_

_Hermione sent him a glare that shut him up mid sentence. "Calm down? Calm down you say? Would you calm down if you found me in bed with some other man? Huh, would you? Answer me, dammit!"_

_"It wasn't like that," he replied with a loud sigh and flash of lightening lit up the desolate sky._

_"Blaise," she began with a sneer, her eyes conveying all she wanted to say, "go to hell."_

_Blaise nodded, picking up his wand, bit his lip for a moment before he spoke. "If I go now, Hermione, I won't come back."_

_"Do you expect me to want you to come back? Do I look like a complete nutter?" Hermione asked as he approached her, she was standing two feet from the door and there was no way he could leave and not pass her._

_As he approached her, his eyes soaked in her wet and wind racked appearance. He stopped right in front of her, his eyes sending messages fraught with apologies, and as he bent, to give her a kiss, she growled maliciously, "How dare you betray me with a kiss."_

_Blaise jumped at the allusion behind the words and nodded in silent understanding as he opened the door and proceeded to make his way out of it, without so much as goodbye._

**(Six Months Later)**

_"Ian Knight," said the handsome man as he respectfully bowed his head in greeting._

_"Hermione Granger," she replied with a timid smile, the way his eyes seemed glued to her made her terribly uncomfortable. "It's a pleasure to meet you."_

_"The pleasure is all mine, Miss Granger," Ian whispered as he pulled a chair out for her and waited for her to sit._

_"What you are asking is highly irregular, Mr. Knight, the Confederation rarely hands over its experiments to a for-profit organization such as yours," Hermione began trying to keep him from looking at her in that way that made her feel as if she would be sick. They way his swept over her was entirely too reminiscent a man she would love to forget._

_Ian nodded as he propped his elbows on the conference table, nodding his head before he spoke. "I'm completely aware of that, Miss Granger, which is why my father and I have taken such a keen interest in the matter."_

_"If the Confederation allows you to take over these operations there's not much chance that we would credit St. Mungo's until you have taken some viable steps and made progress," she retorted, her tone sounding like her former self, years earlier, when she thought she knew everything there was to know._

_Ian was quiet for a moment, his eyes drinking in the sight before him. "Do you know that you have beautiful eyes?"_

_Hermione stiffened as her breath got caught in her throat and she looked down at the stack of papers that sat before her. "Mr. Knight, could we get back to business please?"_

_Ian smirked at her obvious discomfort. "Only if you agree to grab some coffee with me after this."_

_"Mr. Knight, I don't think that is possible," she replied sternly as she looked up at the charming man before her._

_"Why not?" he asked, raising an eyebrow questioningly. "What is so hard about going down to the local café and grabbing a hot cup of coffee? It sounds delightful if you ask me."_

_Hermione continued to glare at him. "I have work to do, Mr. Knight, I do not have time to be gallivanting around with you."_

_"See," Ian grinned amiably, "that's what's wrong with people these days, they don't have time to go gallivanting anymore."_

_Hermione smirked at him, trying her best to remain completely professional, emitting a soft sigh. "Fine, I'll go for coffee but that is it!"_

_"That's all I asked for," he replied with a grin that seemed to be lighting up the entire room._

_The smile slid from Hermione's, delicately, sharp features as she whispered, "That's all I can afford to give you."_

_Ian placed his finger under her chin, slowly rubbing his thumb against the bottom of her lip. "Sometimes we are more wealthy than we think."_

_She moved her head quickly, trying to recover her former smile while ignoring the tingling in the pit of her stomach, asking, "Are you ready for that coffee, Mr. Knight?"_


	2. In Which the Minister of Magic Returns

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 1

Author name: Khaila

Category: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: This story was inspired by the song, "Truth Is" by Fantasia. I know I need to be writing on "Hogwarts Class of 2020" but at the moment I'm stuck so I decided to start this to clear my head. This story is set almost a decade after Hogwarts and five years after the war.

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 1**

** (Three Years Later)**

Hermione Granger stared into the plate that seemed to be packed with pearly white pasta, she inhaled the redolent smell of the spicy sauce that had been laid perfectly at the peak of the mountain of pasta and decided that she wasn't all that hungry. Her eyes flew to the redheaded woman who sat across from her, who was devouring her own plate of pasta and sauteed shrimp.

The redhead looked at her and halted her assault on her pasta. "What? Aren't you hungry?"

"No," Hermione answered simply, pushing the plate away from her, "I ate at my meeting earlier."

Ginny raised a well-sculpted eyebrow at her older friend. "Is it that or is it the fact that the new Minister of Magic is back in town from his Diplomatic trip to Italy?"

Hermione took her napkin from her nap, gracefully threw it on the table next to her almost cold plate of pasta, and glared at her young friend. "This has nothing to do with him. I'm just not hungry."

Ginny smirked, she knew the subject made her friend extremely agitated. "Are you sure? Because for the five years that you've worked at the British office of the International Confederation of Wizards you've never eaten at a single meeting."

"Ginny," Hermione snapped, her brown eyes widening, "I do not want to talk about him."

"I didn't say I wanted to talk about him," Ginny replied as she dabbed the sides of her mouth with her napkin, "I only asked a simple question."

Hermione growled under breath, Ginny could be just as annoying as her older brother's at times. "Well, Ginerva Weasley, I have given you an honest answer, so shut up."

Ginny smiled at her old friend, deciding with the use of her full name that she would lay off the subject that could rattle her bones and give her heart palpitations. Blaise Zabini was a subject that Hermione would avoid at all costs, the handsome Italian had broken her heart three years prior and she had never made any attempt to forgive him.

"So where is Ian taking you for your anniversary?" Ginny asked, looking to her friend expectantly.

Hermione gave a dazzling smile at the mention of her current - and steady - boyfriend, Ian Knight. "He keeps going on and on about how important our two-year anniversary is. I can't disagree. However, neither of us have committed to any plans."

Ginny scoffed at Hermione's words. "You make it sound like some kind of business transaction, I'm so glad Ian has some spontaneity to balance you out."

"Shut up," Hermione chuckled as she looked down into the plate before her. Ian Knight was the oldest son of the Purebred Wizard, Walter Knight, they were the ancestors of the founders of St. Mungo's and the current owners.

"No, seriously, Hermione," Ginny whispered, as she finished off her lunch, "I'm happy that after all these years that you are, finally, living these happy moments."

"You know," she replied, her voice low and her eyes looking off to the side of the table at some unseen blemish in the white cloth, "I never thought I could feel like this again."

Ginny's eyes widen as she noticed a tall, dark, smiling, figure enter the restaurant surrounded by hoards of people. She had heard rumors that he'd be attending a luncheon at some restaurant in Wizarding London but she never imagined it would be the very restaurant that she and Hermione frequented once a week. He was dressed formally in a sleek, pinstriped, suit covered by a traditional black robe, his hair was so black that the light was lost in its locks, he didn't look a day older than he did the day that he walked out Hermione's life.

"What?" Hermione asked, confused at the look that had suddenly come over her friends face.

"The youngest Minister of Magic in a hundred and fifty years has just arrived for his luncheon," Ginny replied, venom lacing her every word, "and at _Bawldric's_, no less."

"What?" Hermione hissed as she turned quickly in her chair to see the man that had visited her nightmares on so many occasions, it was the voice that could ruin any intimate moment with Ian.

* * *

Blaise Zabini stood proudly by the table that the Host had directed him to, not noticing the two ladies watching him with something akin to hatred in their eyes. He laughed at a witless comment a colleague of his made as he pulled out a chair for his fiancé, his mind was racing with thoughts as the truth that his political aspirations had finally come true sunk in and he was finally back in London to stay.

He sat next to his fiancé and motioned for his distinguished colleagues to seat themselves among him. Blaise threw a smirk at his best friend, Draco Malfoy, who sat on his right side like always, Draco had taken care of so many obstacles for him that he'd always keep him seated to his right for he was as important to him as his right hand. To his left sat the beautiful, wealthy, and influential daughter of the American Wizard Stock magnate, Lucas Carrington, his fiancé, Victoria Carrington.

Blaise looked around the room, his dark blue eyes landing approvingly over most at the table, and as he reached the end of his table he noticed a redhead and a brunette on the other side of the restaurant staring at him and his associates. His breath caught in his throat, it couldn't be? He thoughts were confirmed as the brunette caught his eye and turned around quickly, her curly hair protecting her from his gaze.

Blaise allowed his thoughts to linger on her a few moments before returning to the group of men that surrounded him. Still, in the back of his mind he could hear her voice, it had really been three years.

* * *

"I cannot believe he is_ here_," Hermione whispered, running her thin fingers over her face with a sigh, "and with _her_, at that."

"Are you saying that she is the same woman?" Ginny asked as she glances over Hermione's shoulder at the blond next to Blaise.

"I'll never forget her," Hermione replied shaking her head at the scene running through her head, a scene that tormented her for months on end.

Before either of them could whisper another word, about the sudden appearance of the past, a tall, dark-haired, wizard approached their table, completely oblivious to the tension that enveloped the air around the two witches. "Good afternoon, ladies."

"Ian," greeted Ginny with a smile as Ian took a seat next to Hermione and nodded his greeting to her.

"Liebe," Ian whispered his German nickname for Hermione as he leaned over to kiss her on the cheek.

"How was the Hospital Budget meeting?" Hermione asked, trying to shake the image of her ex in bed with Victoria Carrington.

"Hell," Ian smiled, his honey brown eyes flashing charmingly, "but I made it without many casualties."

Hermione nodded, she understood how hard it was to negotiate with everyone having an agenda of their own. "Well, I'm glad you made it."

"Was there any leeway made this morning with the Confederation?" Ian asked, speaking of the long talks that the British Confederation had been having with the French Confederation on an alliance of sorts.

"None," Hermione replied, as Ian reached up to push a piece of hair behind her ear, "there are two many enemies sitting amongst us to aid our cause."

"That's to be expected with all the old Death Eaters still functioning in society, five years later," Ginny remarked, while she examined the man who sat beside her friend, looking as if he could love her no more than he did at that moment, and her friend, who looked as if she had seen a ghost and was struggling not to follow it into the darkness.

Ian looked around the little eatery before turning to his girlfriend with a whisper, "Is that Blaise Zabini sitting over there?"

"Yea," Hermione replied looking at Ginny with a worried glance, they both knew how Ian felt about the Italian wizard.

Ian looked at his girlfriend closely, his voice hard and determined, "Ginny, I think we will be leaving now."

Hermione nodded as they stood, she knew that Ian's hostility toward Blaise came from the emotional pain that stemmed from Blaise's treatment of her. Ginny nodded in agreement, saying, "I think that's best."

Hermione grabbed her bag and said, "I need to go to the ladies room first, I'll be right back."

Hermione took a deep breath as she walked away from the two, she couldn't leave the building with Ian until she could clear her head. Three years of never being in the same room with the man had suddenly come to a startling end and her emotions were in a state of constant confusion because of it. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't notice the tall figure walking toward her until she ran into it.

"Excuse me," she said quickly as she looked up into two familiar blue eyes.

"No," the figure replied as he steadied her one her feet, "excuse me, Hermione."

"Minister Zabini," Hermione remarked as her countenance hardened.

"No need to be so formal," Blaise smiled, noticing the way she placed a wall between them quicker than she could fly a broom.

"We aren't acquaintances, we aren't friends, we are both going to be working together. That is the extent of our relationship so there is more than enough need to be formal," Hermione snapped, in her best McGonagall voice.

"It's been three years since I've seen you," he said looking over her petite frame in such a way that Hermione had a mind to blush, "you look good."

"Well," she began, in an indifferent tone, "Ian says that often, I don't need you to reassure me."

"Ian?" he questioned. "Is that the man who kissed you? Surprising, I thought it'd be Harry or Ron once I left."

"I'd prefer if you didn't make comments about my personal life," Hermione sneered, as she turned and decided she didn't want to go to the ladies room, "and I won't make comments on the filth you keep company with."

"Victoria is far from filth," Blaise growled as he grabbed her arm to stop her.

"Ian Knight is more than man enough never to lay his hand on me nor lay with another woman in our bed, regardless of her station in life," Hermione replied, venomously as he released his hold on her.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," Blaise apologized as her brown eyes glared at him, "you know you always could infuriate me."

"Well, if I can infuriate you in less than a minute I do hope you can hold your temper when we meet in the office," she retorted as she began walking back toward the dining area.

Blaise stood there, leaning on the wall, watching her walk away from him and sighed loudly. For some odd reason he thought things would be different when he came around the back way to meet her on her way to the restroom but it wasn't different, she treated him better than he had actually expected. He knew that he did not deserve the attention that she did give him.

* * *

"How's that headache, Liebe?" Ian asked as he sat next Hermione on her couch.

Hermione shrugged, something she didn't do often. "It's better. I didn't realize migraines could come so fast."

"Well," Ian began as she laid her head on his chest, "I'm here until your bushy head stops pounding."

"Hey," she chuckled indignantly. Ian had met Draco Malfoy at one of his many investors' meetings, after they had begun dating, and hung onto every story that Draco had to tell of his girlfriend. Draco and Ian's families had both circuited the same Purebred circles when they were growing up so they were no strangers, their association had ended after Ian had gone to Durmstrang and Draco to Hogwarts.

Ian, like Draco, had come from all the right circles. His father, Walter, was part of a family that owned 75 percent of the Wizarding Hospitals in Britain and his mother, Liesel, was the daughter of a German diplomat giving him prestige that spanned two countries. His status in the Wizarding world was one reason his relationship with Hermione had caused such a big stir with High society. Yet, Ian, nor did his family, pay any attention to the bigots that populated this Wizarding world.

Ian took a deep breath before speaking, "Is this headache an aftereffect of the return of our Minister?"

Hermione shook her head, the pounding in her temple increasing as the blood rushed to head. "No, I just feel ill so suddenly."

Ian kissed the top of her head with a sigh as he tightened his arms around her torso. "I guess we'll just sit here and nurse it together."

* * *

"No, you tell him that I am not going to allow his beliefs to dictate my administration, either he can take it or he can leave it," Blaise remarked decisively, before turning away from the fire place with a loud sigh.

Blaise had been in a horrible mood ever since his run-in with Hermione earlier and he had been taking out on everyone around him, he looked around his spacious office, put his hand in pocket and sat his coffee mug down loudly. He looked at the collection of books he had acquired over the years and wondered at it all; sometimes he wondered about himself and his ethics, sometimes he wondered why he did what he did, sometimes he just wondered if it was worth it.

"Oh, Blaise," Victoria cooed, with a dazzling smile, as she entered his office, "you've been in here ever since we arrived. Oh, do come out and spend a moment entertaining me."

They had arrived at Blaise's penthouse two hours ago and Blaise had yet to stop to spend a moment with his fiancé. She realized why moments after she saw the look in his eye while they were at lunch. It happened a lot over the course of three years, he would get that look in his eye and she would lose him for hours on end she had just learned to deal with it.

"I'm sorry, Victoria," he answered as he turned to look at the beautiful blond, "I have so much to do with the Brazilian elections coming up, it's important that an ally wins, you know how that goes."

Victoria nodded as she looked down at the gleaming hardwood floor and looked for her next words. "Is it going to be like this for now on?"

Blaise sighed, almost guiltily. "I can't help it, Victoria, I've become who you've always wanted me to be and now I'm busy, there's nothing I can do about it."

Victoria pursed her lips angrily. "Blaise, I do not mean your job. I meant your attitude now that you've seen her, it's like we're having an affair all over again!"

Blaise gave a sarcastic chuckle as he shook his head. "Don't worry, Victoria, nothing will change, you will still be the Minister's wife in a matter of months!"

"Blaise, don't be so rude," she scolded in a motherly tone, "I just don't want to lose you. You know that I do love you, Blaise, with all my heart."

He gave a smile as he looked into her blue eyes, not actually connecting her words with her heart. "I know and I'm sorry I'm being so moody I've just been so busy."

"Yea," she replied, softly as she turned to walk out the door.

"Victoria," Blaise called before she disappeared behind the door, "I know you don't want to lose me and don't worry, you won't."

"Goodnight, Blaise," Victoria whispered before shutting the door softly behind her.

"Goodnight, Victoria," he replied softly, as he leaned back on his desk with a heavy sigh.

Victoria would never understand how his heart worked, and truthfully, neither would he.


	3. In Which Hermione Hopes for a Continent

**Title: Truth Is**

**Chapter: Two**

**Author name: Brittney**

**Author email: Romance**

**Sub Category: Drama**

**Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP**

**Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.**

**DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**Author notes: Rodion is a character from Fyodor Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment", which my AP English class is reading, I'm rather enjoying it so forgive me for referencing it. I love Draco, if ya'll didn't already know, I would love to write a substoryline with a little romance in for him. What do ya'll think?

* * *

**

"Truth Is"

* * *

**(Chapter 2)**

"Rodion, please get me some coffee and tell me when the Minister arrives," Hermione said as her Russian assistant placed an armload of files on her desk.

Hermione was Britain's International Confederation of Wizards Negotiations specialist, she had taken the job right after the war and had experienced a level of success that many before her had not. She enjoyed her job, especially some of the places it sent her, there was nothing more enjoyable to her than to try to decipher some of the double meanings behind the memos sent by top diplomats.

However, now that the former Minister Pro Tempe, who had been Minister ever since the arrest of Cornelius Fudge, had resigned due to health complications, she had to deal with the newly elected Minister of Magic. Which meant that he had to be, thoroughly, briefed on every aspect of her job. How could you negotiate with International Diplomats, on Britain's behalf, without the Minister of Magic?

Hermione had been deep in thought when Rodion returned with a mug of steaming hot coffee. He handed it to her silently and placed another file atop the file that he had previously delivered. She frowned, asking, "What is that?"

"The results from the Brazilian primary," he replied quickly, as he bit his lip and proceeded to open the blinds in her spacious office.

Hermione looked down at the manilla file with a wary eye. "I don't want to handle that, send it to the Minister's office. I told his cabinet member, Frederick Bletchly, Blotchly or something, that I was totally against getting involved with such a volatile Wizarding community."

"I'm two steps ahead of you, Miss Granger," Rodion retorted quickly, his faint accent kicking in with the pronunciation of her name, "but they sent it back, something about the Minister wanting you to handle it personally."

Hermione sat back in her chair slowly, a thoughtful frown twisting her features, as her finger tapped softly on her bottom lip. "That bastard!"

Rodion's eyes widened in something between horror and surprise, he had never heard her address anyone so harshly before. "Who is a _bastard_, Miss Granger?"

"The first foreign Minister of Magic in England, the youngest Minister of Magic in 150 years, that's who!" she answered loudly, her brown eyes were ablaze with some murderous emotion that had Rodion eager to flee.

"I don't understand? I know that there is a difference of opinion here but I don't understand the name-calling," he questioned as her gaze softened and she ran her fingers through her hair.

"We have a long and extensive history," Hermione began, "but he's making brazen suggestions at spending more time together than I'd ever opt for."

"It can't be that bad," said Rodion good-naturedly, trying to persuade her to engage in a better mind set about the situation.

"It's worse," she sighed, closing her eyes as she felt the onset of a huge migraine, "much, much, worse."

* * *

"So," began Draco Malfoy as he sat in the leather chair in front of his friend's desk, "how do those stats look, from Brazil?" 

"I don't know," replied Blaise as he stood in front of a small mirror, buttoning a cufflink, "I wouldn't let anyone open them before I sent them to the ICW."

"You know she's going to fight you tooth and nail, don't you? She was - if I may say so myself - a formidable opponent," Draco replied, watching the small smirk appear on Blaise's face.

"I don't care how she fights," Blaise retorted, as he sat behind his desk with a satisfied sigh, "I want her to work with me, she could be a great asset to my administration, whether she wants to or not."

"I think I can safely answer for her here, I don't think she's going to want to," Draco grinned, as Blaise flipped through the parchment on his desk. "I wonder how Miss Carrington is going to react to this little revelation?"

Blaise glared at his blonde friend. "Draco, let me disabuse you of any romantically ignorant notion in your head. I don't harbor any feelings for Hermione, I just know that I couldn't do any better."

"If you asked Victoria you could do a lot worse," Draco baited, throwing Blaise a smirk that only he could create.

"Let's just say, Draco," Blaise answered quickly, as he signed a scroll, "that Victoria has no say in my business decisions."

"Fletchly, says she disagrees with getting involved Brazil. She thinks their government, at the moment, is too volatile to get involved with and here you are jumping head first into a relationship with the country," Draco said as he propped his feet up on Blaise's desk, waiting for the appropriate outburst from other man.

"Well, Fletchly shouldn't care what she has to say on that! She's not the Head of Liaisons for the Ministry of Magic. He is!" bellowed Blaise, he began to feel the effects of Draco's constant baiting, as he threw his Quill on the desk, splattering the parchment with little puddles of ink.

Draco smirked, holding back a hearty laugh. "Still, weren't you just saying how she would be a great asset to your team?"

"Damn you, Draco," he growled as his secretary came in to pick up the papers he'd signed, "but the fact that Fletchly is considering her words shows what an asset she really is."

"Makes you wish you didn't have such a keen interest in liaisons a couple of years ago, huh?" Draco teased, finally letting go of the laughter that he'd been holding back. He had spent his entire childhood - or at least his years at Hogwarts - teasing and baiting his best friend like that and as they got older it seemed to get easier and more enjoyable.

"Draco don't you have a job to go to?" Blaise asked exasperated, knowing that being an investor meant that Draco could show up at his office whenever but that knowledge didn't relieve his yearning for his friend to leave.

* * *

"Miss Granger," Blaise countered, even more tired now than he had been when he been orally sparing with Draco earlier, "I beg you to think over your decision. There is no denying how important this could be!" 

"Look," she said, in a tone that implied that she had long ago lost her patience, "I'm going to try a technique that I'm sure you know little of, honesty. I don't want to get involved with this because it would mean working closely with your administration - which I'm sure you already know - for the duration of your term and I'm not prepared to be _that_ involved with you."

"Miss - Hermione, I'm begging you," he pleaded softly, as her brown eyes looked away from him and he was flooded with memories of things he hadn't remembered in years.

"I can't," Hermione answered decisively, as Rodion entered the office with a small envelope. "Who is that from?"

Rodion handed her the envelope quickly, answering, "It came on the St. Mungo's official owl, it requires an immediate answer."

Hermione raised an eyebrow as she looked questionably at Rodion, saying, "Excuse me, Minister Zabini, I believe this is urgent."

"That's quite all right," Blaise replied, watching her open the envelope, and sat back in his chair watching her eyes sweep across the page in some unseen emotion.

Hermione opened the letter and forced back a smile as familiar handwriting met her eyes. It was a rare occasion that Ian ever contacted her at work, well, either of them rarely had the time. She had to reel her mind back to the letter as she started to drift off into thought about the evening she had the night before, Ian was about the most gracious lover a woman could have and she wasn't shy about admitting it.

_Liebe,_

_Darling, I'm quite obliged to offer my apologies on interrupting you, for I am aware on the magnitude of your day to day. On which I do offer my wishes of luck, I'm quite sure you need them. I took time from father's babbling to extend an invitation to dinner tonight to celebrate the pending celebration of our anniversary. What celebration, I'm sure you are asking. Well, that's what dinner is for, darling, because I have come up with an ingenious idea. An idea that I will present over a candlelit dinner at Mother's favorite Russian restaurant, Dostoyevsky's. I will arrive at your flat approximately at 8:15 tonight. I am impatiently awaiting our meeting and the vision of you before my eyes once more._

_All my Love,_

_Mr. W. I. Knight IV_

"Rodion," Hermione began, her tone almost indifferent, as she folded the letter and sat it in the top drawer of her desk, "send a reply, I don't think I need to dictate to you what to say to the sender."

"Yes, Ma'am," Rodion replied as he took leave of her. On the rare occasions that the two did communicate while in the office Hermione usually never said anymore than that she was happy to attend, for it was usually nothing more than a dinner invitation.

"Is everything going all right with Mungo's?" Blaise asked with an inquiring air, as Rodion closed the door behind him softly.

"Fine," she replied curtly, looking back into in his alluring eyes, "great, actually."

"It's been a long time since we've seen each other," he remarked, suddenly. They had been in that office for an hour and a half and he hadn't tried to speak to her in any other way than as a professional, he didn't know where this sudden urge had come from.

"Don't try me with your small talk," Hermione snapped, as she threw a folder at him, he barely caught it, "it's been far too long since there was anything between us to talk about."

Blaise sat up in his chair, sitting the folder in his lap, stared her in the eyes, and whispered, "Don't you think there is still something between us?"

"No," she answered as she stood up and walked toward the window, determined to put a little space between them.

"Are you sure?" Blaise asked, surprising even himself at the brazen attitude he had taken.

Hermione stiffened as he approached her, she found her voice suddenly and turned to him, anger a blaze in her eyes. "You know, I do wish there was something between us - a continent!"

"Hermione," he whispered, reaching a hand out to touch her, which she swatted away, "there is this huge, beautiful, history between us that we cannot ignore. If we try, it will hinder us professionally and personally."

"I think you ignored it some years ago," she snapped as she walked back to her desk, brushing her hair away from her face quickly, "and I don't think it will hinder my personal life."

"Hermione," Blaise began, leaning on her desk, his eyes pleading with her to stop and listen to him, "please try to understand -"

Hermione interrupted him suddenly, her eyes telling him that his attempts were more than futile. "Is this some attempt at an apology that is three years too late?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he replied, with a sigh as he turned his back and sat on the side of her desk, crossing his arms over his chest, "I don't know."

Hermione resigned herself to sitting in her chair, looking at his back for a moment, before she spoke softly, "Well, if so I wish you would forget it, I don't need it nor do I want it. Now, if you would just open that folder you will find that I agreed to work with you, I know that's what you wanted."

"That's not what I wanted to hear, Hermione," Blaise replied, looking down at the folder that had fell to the floor when he had stood unexpectedly.

"I wish you would leave," she whispered suddenly, running her fingers through her hair with a sigh.

"Hermione -" he began, turning half his torso so he could look at her, but she interrupted him before he could get an entire thought out.

"Blaise," Hermione said as she interrupted him, her eyes begging him to just do as she asked, "I've come to realize how things that you expected to work out don't and you've just got to deal with the facts, everything doesn't work out, it's a funny twist to life sometimes. Shit happens and you have to move on."

Blaise stood, used his wand to send the folder to his office and walked toward the door, and saying soberly, "I would like very much if you would agree to meet my cabinet sometime this week, I'm sure there is something interesting that we could all discuss."

"Fine," she replied as she rose to show him out of her office, "just have your secretary contact Rodion, I'm sure they will find some space in both our schedules."

"Good," he said, simply, looking down at the woman that even now had an effect on him. Hermione looked away, trying to avoid his eyes and the way he made her feel.

"Good," she mimicked softly, as she watched him walk out the door, sighing loudly as he shut the door behind him.

* * *

"Is it possible, for our wedding, we could invite the entire Wizarding world? Maybe have American and Britain traditions, something along the lines of a taste of both worlds? What do you think?" Victoria rambled excitedly as she leaned on his desk, her. 

Blaise had arrived back at his office in less than amiable spirits, she had agreed to work with him but he couldn't get her out of his mind. After he had walked out on her he had pledged that all of the feelings, that he had once felt so openly and honestly for her, were gone and obsolete. Yet now that they were interacting so closely he was plagued the vision of her that rainy night, three years before, and he wasn't so sure about his pledge.

When he had left that day he had rearranged his life so he would not run into her more than a few times a year. However, when he began his bid for Minister, the thoughts of her became more frequent. Then he had overcome the controversy over his heritage - with a statement made by the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation saying that even considering it a problem was violating the Wizard of Code of Ethnic Equality - he had his first sight of her that lasted more than ten minutes. His entire thought process had been clearly skewed since then, everyone could see it, even Victoria, although she'd never admit it.

"I think it's a bit much, Victoria," he answered plainly as he continued to read a memo from the Department of Mysteries.

She frowned, her blood red suit fitting at all the right places as she leaned over to touch his hand, affectionately. "Don't you want me to be happy, Blaise, darling?"

"Darling," Blaise replied, his blue eyes finally looking up at the fair skinned blonde, "I thought you were happy, you're marrying me."

"Oh, stop being so arrogant," Victoria whined, looking down at the battered looking piece of parchment with a wary eye, "my happiness also depends on how well this wedding goes over."

"I do not doubt that," Blaise mumbled, as he looked back at the memo before him.

Victoria ignored his sarcasm as she looked toward the window with glazed eyes. "It will be the wedding of the year, no the decade - no, that won't do - it'll have to be the century! Daddy always told me the sky was the limit and now I truly understand, don't you see, Blaise, dear?"

"Yea," he mumbled as he fingered through a scroll from a cabinet member, "I wish you would understand that my bank account is now the limit."

"What darling?" she cooed questioningly, turning to glance at him, her eyes speaking nothing that was unsaid between them.

"Nothing," Blaise denied, with a pained smile, "I was just agreeing with you."

"Aren't you tired of those endless memorandums?" Victoria whined, as she made her way over to Blaise to place her dainty hands on his shoulders.

Blaise had found the endless barraged of papers an excuse to keep his mind off the past. The meeting with Hermione had not been completely worthless but it did nothing more than bang his heart against guilt's door. He looked at Victoria, getting a whiff of her expensive perfume, his eyes couldn't see past the outside of her perfect features and long, silky, blond hair. He wondered where was the substance that filled most women's eyes, the longing of motherhood, the endless ambition, the blind compassion, and the ambivalent emotion of the women he grew-up admiring. Victoria was nothing short of magnificent, on the outside, but where were the things that they were to build their relationship on? Blaise pondered this for a moment before placing his hand atop hers as it rested upon his shoulder for he had no answer for his questions and in his sub-conscience he realized that there were no answers, only questions.


	4. In Which the World Turns Upside Down

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 3

Author name: Brittney

Author email: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC Politics

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: I found another romantic outlet in Ginny, she seems fun, I'm just used to writing her as a back up and a catalyst to Harry or/and a Conscience for Hermione that it's nice to give her some character. My AP English class is now on "Wuthering Heights" so excuse any references! And do not ask me why I chose that particular situation to rock that continent but I watch HBO's "Sometimes In April" and it's just been on my mind since.

* * *

**"Truth Is"**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

****

"So," Hermione began slowly, she sat at the opposite end of the table from Ginny and stared her straight in the eye. She ran her fingers over her hair while trying to forget the pulsing headache that was ruining her Saturday morning and think about the night before with Ian.

"So what?" Ginny retorted, with a mouthful of Ice Cream, as she looked up at her friend.

"Where were you last night? I tried to get in touch with you after I got home but you were no where to be found," Hermione asked, taking a sip of her coffee.

Ginny sat her spoon in the pint of ice cream before answering. "That was so long ago that I don't even remember."

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend's horrid sarcasm. "You weren't with Harry, were you?"

"Ha," Ginny chuckled loudly before placing the pint back in the freezer, with a smirk, "Harry and I, that's absurd."

"Really now, why?" Hermione asked as she suppressed a chill that ran down her spine, a product of the early morning April air that was flowing in through the open window.

A devious smile appeared on Ginny's fair features as she sat back in her chair. "I like my men a little more dangerous."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her younger friend, questioningly. "Dangerous?"

"Dangerous in a good way, Hermione," Ginny replied her eyes widening in some unforeseen happiness. "He nourishes this passion within me that every other man in my past has tried to kill, he understands that it's a part of me and he refuses to do without it."

"He's a good man?" Hermione asked, maternally, she actually wondered how long Ginny could live life as a single woman, it was hard for her to even imagine.

"Extremely," Ginny answered softly looking down at her slender fingers.

"Fine," Hermione continued, watching the emotions flying across her younger friend's face, "I won't grill you about him anymore but I will find out who he is."

Ginny was quiet for a moment, looking up at the thick-haired woman before her, before she asked, "What about the man who ignites the fire in _you_?"

"What?" Hermione questioned, quite surprised, as the comment caught her off guard. "What about Ian?"

"Not Ian, Hermione, Ian does nothing but satisfy your need for affection and that's barely momentary," Ginny remarked quickly, preventing Hermione from interjecting a statement.

"Ginny, Ian does more for me than that," Hermione argued gently.

"Sure," she replied, brushing off her friend's argument, "what about the meeting yesterday?"

"What about it?" Hermione replied, nonchalantly, arching an eyebrow.

"What was he like? Was he the same as before or what?" Ginny asked, in a voice reminiscent of a young school girl.

Hermione sighed loudly as she stared into her coffee. "It seemed that damned meeting lasted all day, we argued, like we used to yet being in that office with him just felt normal. Still, Blaise was different, I can't put my finger on it exactly but I could feel it, even in the way he spoke, it just wasn't the same. His hair is a lot shorter and, somehow, his chest is a lot broader yet when he stood next to me – "

"What? Come on, Hermione, be honest," Ginny prodded as Hermione became enthralled with the thoughts in her head.

Hermione shook her head as she looked up at her friend. "I ended up asking him to leave and that's how we ended the meeting."

"Hermione," Ginny whined, as Hermione obviously closed the door to that subject.

"Drop it," Hermione replied sharply, as she stood up and placed her cup in the sink.

"You can't ignore it forever," remarked Ginny as she heard the front door close and the approach of two voices.

"That's what you think," Hermione mumbled just as Ian and Harry entered the room laughing at something that Harry had said.

* * *

"It's Saturday morning," Blaise groaned as he greeted the head of his Minister of Defense floating in the fireplace.

"I'm sorry, sir," said Carrick Blair as he watched Blaise sit on the dark green couch with a loud sigh.

"What is it? What's got that look in your eye, Blair?" Blaise asked after a moment. He had chosen Carrick Blair for the position just moments after his elections for his ability to be ruffled by nothing, which is why the worried look in his eye caught Blaise's attention.

"The situation in South America is worse than we thought, Minister," Carrick answered as the bustle of the crowd behind him reached Blaise's ears.

"How much worse?" Blaise asked as Draco entered his office quietly and leaned on his desk.

Carrick Blair sighed loudly, squeezing his eyes tight before answering. "Montague returned this morning with reports full of incidents that lead no where but to something that we are trying to avoid accepting."

"Isolated incidents or something that is far greater?" Blaise asked, his tone more serious, as he laid his elbows on his knees and clasp his fingers together.

"Far greater, sir," Carrick replied with a sigh, "we sent Montague's reports, as well as his assistant's reports, to the Minister of Justice and he agrees, this is systematic murder. Sir that is as simple as we can state it."

"Murder?" Draco questioned loudly, Blaise wasn't surprised to hear his presence in the room there was rarely a moment in his political life that Draco missed.

"At first we thought it was just a case of another fascist Dark Lord trying to arise through the image of saving the pure bloods but Montague says it wasn't like that at all. So Pucey looked through his records and found many Muggle incidents like this, several in Africa, one gigantic incident in Europe when Hitler came to power, and several in Asia. We've never seen it done like this in the Wizarding world," Carrick replied as if he had spent the entire night trying to understand it.

"Blair, are you telling me that they are committing acts of Genocide over there?" Blaise asked as his knowledge of Muggle History and War Tactics kicked in.

Carrick nodded. "I thought Voldemort was as close as we would get to Genocide but it's been broken down to even broader groups than bloodlines."

"How much broader, Carrick?" Blaise asked as he began biting his bottom lip with worry.

"All over South America in Brazil, Peru, Argentina, Bolivia the rich are killing the poor, and, it seems, the bigger the country the worse it is. It all started years and years ago when the Governments in these countries were banded together as one huge Magical government, about the time that they were taken over by the Ministry in the US. The US split up the rich from the poor and, in the name of, quote unquote, democracy there was more poor so the ministry gave the poor the right to rule. So for years while we were fighting Grindelwald and Voldemort the rich was sitting angrily while poor wizards ruled them. However, just last year the US gave each of these magical countries back their right to rule " Draco interrupted Carrick as he sat next to his friend and finished Carrick's thought.

"All the men elected to offices in those countries were rich, landholding, investment spending wizards."

"Exactly," Carrick answered with a restless sigh, "ruthless, each and every one of them are. The President of Brazil, who was just elected last week, was the one who allegedly spurned this particularly bloody turn of events, and he is using his personal money to cover his tracks."

"Look," Blaise began with a mumbled curse, as he stood to his feet, "I'll be in a bit just keep gathering intelligence, you know we can't do a damn thing without adequate information. Get Fletchly, Montague, and Pucey there before I arrive, I'll need all of you to brief me on this situation."

"Sir," Carrick began slowly, almost fearful of the stormy look in Blaise's eye, "I believe this is an International situation, the ICW will be here when you arrive also, they have already contacted us."

Draco nodded with a chuckle. "Your decision to become involved with Brazil has turned Britain into the next destination of all the heads of every branch of the ICW, including the Supreme Mugwump if you don't handle it."

"Don't worry," Blaise answered darkly, as he made his way to his desk and grabbed some parchment and quill, "I'm going to handle this."

"Blaise," Draco began as he made his way to the desk, his long blonde hair flowing behind him, "I have a feeling you won't be able to handle this behind a desk in London."

* * *

"He was the only man I killed worth remembering," Harry told Ian as they continued their conversation about years long past.

Harry had taken a distinct liking to Ian, although his best-friend and his sister both agreed that he bared too much of a resemblance to their traitorous brother, Percy. Ian and Harry spent many Saturdays together since Ron no longer resided in England and Harry was without a steady woman in his life. Harry found comfort with a man that would actually discuss the things that they had gone through and not shut himself off like Ron would, though he often thought that Ian could do with a number of Ron's better qualities.

"If Voldemort hadn't gotten his mind he could have been great," Ian replied as he took a long drink of his butterbeer.

"His son came out pretty well, no?" Harry asked of the young man that he had paid little attention to during his days at Hogwarts.

Ginny frowned at the two and signaled for Hermione to follow her out into the hall. Ginny stood beside the living room door and waited for her slightly hungover friend to follow and as she rounded the corner Ginny caught her arm. "Hermione, you might want to go into your office soon before Rodion owls you."

"Why? It's a Saturday," Hermione remarked, in a whisper, "I usually don't go in."

Ginny frowned at the brunette, saying, "Something crazy is going on, Hermione, it could affect the entire Wizarding world."

"How do you know?" Hermione whispered, suspiciously, peering into the room at the oblivious men.

"A friend of mine just sent me an owl," she replied, with an urgent tone, "you need to go support Zabini, from what I hear he's going to need it."

Hermione frowned, whispering harshly, "That is Victoria's job to support him, I'm not going until my boss tells me to, whatever this situation is he can handle it alone."

"Hermione," Ginny interjected softly, "I think it's your job now."

"Look," Hermione sighed loudly, "I doubt anything that horrible has occurred this early in his administration, I'm sure he can handle whatever it is without me."

Ginny shook her head and thrust a folded piece of parchment toward Hermione. "Fine, read this."

Hermione slowly took the letter from her friend with a frown and began reading softly, to herself, "_Darling Ginerva "_

_Darling Ginerva,_

_I know this message is extremely short notice and I do hope I'm not disturbing you but I write this letter to regretfully inform you that our meeting tonight will have to be indefinitely postponed. There arrived news this morning, from South America, of an incident that will soon set the precedent for the Minister's administration and I have to be there for him, you know that it is required of me. I can almost envision your long wavy lock swaying as you shake your head and mumbled of my antiquated noble ideals, even your reprimanding is beautiful, my dearest. Regretfully, this cannot be helped, the Minister was informed this morning that this will very soon become an International situation and it could possibly threaten even the peace that has been constructed in our own lives. What is happening over there is a bit like the horror that filled our lives for years while we lived in fear of Voldemort, yet it is quite different. Ten years ago this wouldn't have been an international situation, as you didn't see France and the US running to save us from Voldemort, but when the war ended the ICW passed several Bills that made this a Humanitarian emergency, for what if the unrest reaches our own shores. I will come see you later tonight, probably after midnight for I fear I will be in South America before I know it. Please, do not worry and do not forget me, I will write when I can. _

_Regretfully Yours,_

_D. L. M. XII_

"What's going on, Ginny?" Hermione asked softly, as she handed the letter back to Ginny slowly.

"I don't know, Hermione," Ginny answered slowly, her voice barely reaching her friends awaiting ears, "but Draco never puts that much intimacy into a quick owl."

"Draco?" Hermione gasped, as the letters that ended the note flashed through her mind. "This note is from Draco?"

"Yea." Ginny nodded as she folded the note and placed it back in her robes. "So what about Blaise, Hermione? If Draco is reminding me of his affection what do you think Blaise is going through?"

"Ginny, stop that," she demanded, as she peered in at Harry and Ian again, "I know I need to go in now, I'll more than likely receive an owl from his secretary soon, I better go to the bedroom before it arrives and Ian starts asking questions."

"Okay, I'll go and make your excuses," Ginny said as she began to make her way back into the living room, leaving Hermione to ponder the possibilities.

* * *

"Blaise!" Hermione called as she entered the bustling office, flew by many distracted men, and made her way toward two figures standing by the window one with his hand in his pocket and the other talking softly, almost under his breath.

Blaise looked over at her, almost relieved, as her long brown hair flew behind her and even in her haste her voluptuous body seemed to glide toward him, saying quickly, "You remember my father, Lucio Zabini?"

"Of course," she smiled, wryly, at the older wizard whose son was a mirror-image of him, "nice to see you again. Blaise, what's going on over there?"

"Look, son," Lucio began as he fingered the cigar in his hand, "I'm going to go talk to Fletchly and find out who is going to head the operations between us and them."

"Thanks, Papa," Blaise answered as his father made his way to the other side of the office and he turned his attention to the young woman in front of him. "Hermione, you were right."

"About what?" she asked, glancing around at the different officials that crowded the spacious office and the hallway outside of it.

"Not getting involved with Brazil," he retorted softly, as his eyebrows creased into a frown, "the entire continent over there is either committing Genocide or becoming a victim of it."

"Oh, Blaise," Hermione whispered with a sigh, "and they are going to put this whole operation on your administration because you were the only one that decided to get involved with that country so soon after their transfer of power."

Blaise nodded as he watched the worry build in her eye and she dared to lay a caring hand on his arm. "Hermione, the Supreme Mugwump of the ICW doesn't want to deal with this, at all, he says it's up to me and my diplomats."

"I'm your only diplomat, besides Fletchly and he's going to be needed to deal with all of these other countries and their Branches of government and ICW," she retorted with a chuckle, the irony of the situation was not lost on her at all. She looked up into his captivating eyes, watching something that she hadn't seen in years float between the worry and could not stop herself from reassuring him. "Don't worry, you have the ability to solve this problem and I'll be here every step of the way."

"Sir," called a tall, raven-haired, man as he approached the two.

"Yes, Montague," Blaise answered as he loosened his tie and tried to replace the worry with something short of resolve.

"It's been reported that Brazil, Argentina, and Peru alone have begun to train an army of seventy-thousand men while several hundred mercenaries, from every country on the continent, have been sweeping the countryside killing towns of poor Muggleborns and half bloods. The Italian ICW has reported that it's much more than money, now bloodlines have been added," Montague reported with a look much like those that were worn by the Aurors in the last great war against Voldemort.

"Oh, dear gods, Hermione," called a deep voice as a buff, Scottish, man approached the two, "we were waiting on you to arrive!"

"Broderick, I just arrived," she answered, giving him a simple yet cordial smile, "how are things?"

"It's getting insane out there, Hermione," Broderick Boyle explained, ignoring the eyes of Montague and Zabini, "they've burned all the ICW embassies and refused to release any of our employees out there. They've turned from the modern Wizarding world and the Supreme Mugwump is dealing with the Russian crisis right now, he's leaving it to our Minister of Magic. What in the hell are we going to do?"

"We are going to research all of the postwar bills that were passed by every branch of the ICW and find out how we can persecute these governments while Britain plays good guy, goes over there and tries our best to negotiate with these men," Hermione began as she unbuttoned the button on her suit and began to do what she did best.

"Tell Blair that I need some defense tactics, now," Blaise demanded as he sat behind his desk and began to leaf through the piles of reports that covered his desk.

Hermione looked down at the Italian as she leaned on his desk holding a pile of bills that she had once helped enforce as law in many countries. She watched the lines around his lips appear and disappear as Carrick Blair went over dictatorial tactics of men long dead. She watched the muscle jump in his jaw as he made endless observations and she couldn't help but remember exactly what it was that made her so attracted to him. She was jolted out of her reverie by a familiar voice asking for her attention as he handed her more papers.

"Rodion," Hermione called as he turned to walk away.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" the slim Russian answered quickly, as he turned to face her.

"Send an Owl to Miss Ginny Weasley telling her that I'm giving what is need in this situation, no more or no less," Hermione dictated as he applied it to his memory, it was one of the things that had made her want to hire him, his ability to commit things to memory.

"Is that all?" he asked as he pulled a stray quill from his pocket.

"That'll be all."


	5. In Which Everyone Needs Their Attention

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 4

Author name: Brittney

Author email: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC Politics

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: I will translate for ya'll. We are now on "A Tale of Two Cities" so if you see a referance to it, I apologize.

Liebe (German) - Love

Figlio (Italian) - Son

"Non abbastanza, figlio, non abbastanza" (Italian) - Not quite, son, not quite

"Temo, come gli Americani dicono, che la merda sta circa per colpire il ventilatore." (Italian) - I fear, as the Americans say, that the shit is about to hit the fan.

* * *

"Truth Is"

* * *

**Chapter 4**

**(Three and a Half Weeks Later)

* * *

**

"I need to see Miss Granger, _immediately_," Ian insisted as he stood at the desk of the Minister of Magic's secretary, looking quite the business man.

Rodion sighed loudly, almost irritably, as he looked over the brunette head of Blaise's secretary, Lavender Brown, who had lost her patience long before he had decided to intervene. "Mr. Knight, I assure that it is quite impossible. Miss Granger has been shut in meetings with the Minister, and other diplomats, all morning."

"Did she leave any orders for you not to interrupt her?" Ian asked, sending a quick glare to the silent woman.

"Sir --" Rodion began, his thick accent lingering behind the words, but was interrupted by a deep, melodic, voice.

"Rodion," Blaise interrupted as he entered the room with his hands in his pockets, "I'm sure Miss Granger wouldn't mind_ this_ visitor."

"Thank you, Minister," Ian said, as he offered his hand in greeting, "Ian Knight."

Blaise refused his hand with a curt nod, turning to his secretary, "Please Lavender, run and fetch her, I'm quite sure she needs a break."

"Yes, sir," Lavender smiled as she sent a look at Rodion and proceeded down the hall to the packed conference room.

"Rodion, send that Owl away, I have no reply to it," Blaise ordered as he fingered through the piles of letters and inquiries on the desk.

"Are you sure, sir?" Rodion asked, before he began to prepare the owl for its journey, letter in tow.

"Quite," Blaise replied with a smirk as he turned to Ian, "is there something that I could help you with?"

"No, thank you," Ian answered, as he took a seat next to the window, "I just needed to see my fiancé, I haven't seen her for almost two weeks."

"Oh, I see, the _burden_ of separation," Blaise groaned sarcastically, grabbing a cup of Scotch off the mini-bar, "I understand, completely. Would you like a drink?"

Ian wasn't able to answer for the soft, yet strong, voice that interrupted his words as his fiancé entered the room. "He doesn't drink."

"Oh," Blaise chuckled, smiling at the determined flash in her eye, as he finished his own drink, "I see."

"Liebe," Ian whispered, as he engulfed her in his arms, his heart was honestly elated to see her face again. Every date that they had planned for fourteen days straight had been canceled, she was too busy to answer any of his Owls, and he wasn't even sure if she was going home to sleep, that very morning he had decided that he had worried enough.

"Ian," she began, softly, as she gently pushed away from his hug to look up into his handsome face, "I'm so sorry about the past couple of days."

"It's fine," he replied as his hands traveled around her face and hair, caressing his fears away, "after we got wind of it at Mungo's I was just eager to see you."

"Have you been very busy?" she asked as he leaned in to kiss her cheek softly, as he often did as they spoke in close proximity.

"Extremely," Ian answered, pulling her to him again, "they've been sending their worst to us and you can imagine the carnage I've been seeing if countries are willing to send wizards thousands of miles for adequate treatment."

"Oh, Ian, dear," Hermione cooed, ignoring the loud grunt that came from a third party, not two feet from them, "the hospitals over there can't handle all the magical ailments that are being inflicted on the people so they are sending them to any available place."

"I know, I know, Liebe," he retorted with a nod and a small smile, then continued in the voice of a trained Mediwizard, "I don't want to talk about it any longer. You look tired, I see signs of fatigue, are you sleeping any?"

Hermione sighed as she turned from him and grabbed a glass of water, ignoring the three extra in the party who were listening in. "With all that's going on my health is the least of my concern."

"Then, Liebe, I think you need to sort out your priorities," Ian instructed, sternly, as she turned to him with an incredulous look.

Hermione drank her water slowly and replied in a carefully controlled tone, her brown eyes flashing dangerously, "I think you need to change your tone, because I did not greet you so lovingly to be accosted with a lecture."

"Hermione," Lavender interrupted, with encouragement from the Italian at her side, "the conference needs your attention, immediately."

"I'll be right there," Hermione answered, before turning back to her fiance, "Ian, I will try my best to Owl you later."

"Hermione," he began slowly, his countenance stoic, and his voice low and threatening, "I need your attention . . . _we_ need your attention."

"Ian," she sighed, her voice tired and her eyelids fluttering, "I do not need this conversation right now."

"Is our relationship going to be another victim of this, Liebe?" Ian asked, in a painfully serious tone, as Hermione bit her lip in thought.

She kissed him softly on the cheek and whispered, "I love you, Ian, but I have a job to do. If our relationship dies it will not be murdered by my hands."

Blaise interrupted Ian reply as he approached the couple and grabbed her arm, gently. "I think we need to get back to work, Miss Granger."

Hermione jerked her arm from his grasp with an irritated frown yet said, "I think we need to, also."

"I love you, Liebe," Ian called as she followed Blaise down the hall, his hands in his pockets, trying to cover his broken pride.

"And I you, Ian," she answered with a sweet smile, not realizing that the first break had been made.

* * *

"All I am suggesting is a moratorium," Hermione asserted, as she slipped the red jacket off her shoulders and onto the chair next to her.

"I don't think it'll do much good, Miss Granger," said an American agent, with a loud sigh, "they are becoming increasingly barbaric. The first day a quarter of a million Wizards were murdered and those are the ones we have records on."

Lucio Zabini nodded, chancing a glance at his son, who was deep in thought, before he replied, "Look, Lydia, a suggesting a moratorium is better than sitting here while they increase the refuge count by 75."

"So where does that leave the other 15?" Lydia Harris retorted quickly, a frown distorting her petite face.

"Probably dead if they aren't some wealthy Purebred," Frederick Bletchly interjected before Lydia's intended target could answer.

"I'm not saying we should be doing nothing but I am suggesting that we weigh our actions carefully," Lydia replied as the temperature in the room continued to rise.

"I'd rather be stamped as overtly proactive than be left with blood on my hands, it seems your country is only worried about policing the world rather than being a helpmeet to those who are honestly in need," the Minister of Defense, Carrick Blair, mumbled as he rose to grab a mug of coffee.

"Wh--" began Lydia, indignantly, but she was cut off by the voice of the man who had been left to sort the whole situation out and wasn't being helped by the constant bickering.

"Excuse me," Blaise announced loudly, coming to his feet quickly, "if this is going to turn into a daycare then you all can all remove yourselves, now!"

All of the occupants found themselves ending their incessant mumbling and endless arguments as the angry face of the young man met their glance and the seriousness of his tone made its way to their ears. He waited for them to settle themselves before he continued, "I know that this is a stressful subject and none of the tasks that we have been assigned are easy but nothing can get done with all this mumbling and arguing. We aren't in school anymore, this compromise is life or death for someone and we can't afford to do anything hastily and under the influence of anger."

Hermione felt tingle of a past emotion that Lucio Zabini was broadcasting openly, pride. Blaise had always had this presence and this indescribable way with people and hard situations, Hermione had found that out first hand during the war. "Now," he continued, his voice a little softer, "lets try to finish this without killing each other."

"Minister," interrupted Julius Montague, with an exhausted look, "why don't we take a recess?"

"Good idea, Montague," Blaise sighed, with a weary nod, "I'm giving all of you forty-five minutes to gather yourselves. When the allotted time is up please return promptly and prepared to work."

Blaise returned to his seat as the group of dignitaries and other government officials made their way out. He watched them silently, out the corner of his eye, wondering how in the world could they all come up with a suitable plan of action. Some didn't want to get anymore involved in the mess than they already were, some wanted to run right over and allow the Aurors -- from any country who were an ally to Britain -- to fight the renegade killing, and the rest didn't know what to do, they were stuck in some kind of purgatory of indecision. Blaise found himself apart of the latter group, he wanted to help -- at times he felt he could have prevented it if he hadn't supported the new regime so openly -- but he wasn't quite sure if going over there would help more than it would hurt.

Lucio Zabini stood by his son, with his hand on his shoulder, he knew how hard this was for his eldest son. He had been part of a few sticky situations during his time at the Italian International Federation but none would fall on his shoulders like this would fall on Blaise. "Figlio, do not worry, you will make the right decision."

"Papa," Blaise began, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, "if I become anymore indecisive I'll _become_ Hamlet."

"Non abbastanza, figlio, non abbastanza," Lucio chuckled with a good-natured smile. "Why don't you take advantage of this recess and get away from for a moment?"

"It might be my last moment of peace, Papa," Blaise groaned, as he stared into the green eyes of his father, "temo, come gli Americani dicono, che la merda sta circa per colpire il ventilatore."

* * *

"Darling, I'm exhausted," Blaise replied to whatever Victoria had been going on and on about since she had arrived at the restaurant.

"Humph," she sneered, her dainty eyes throwing darts at him, "I'm sure you aren't too exhausted to be intimate with Hermione."

"Hermione?" Blaise retorted, almost choking on his steak as her reply had not been expected. "What the hell?"

"No need to feign surprise, darling," Victoria remarked, as she leisurely took a sip of her wine, "and stop using those vulgar words."

"Let me remind you of the other definition of intimate," he growled as he gently sat his fork and knife on his plate. "I have been intimate with Hermione numerous times in the past couple of weeks by relaying information to her and receiving the like from her."

"I'm sure," Victoria sneered, running her newly manicured fingers through her long golden hair.

Blaise glared openly at her before returning to his lunch. "Yes, I'm sure you are."

Suddenly Victoria cooed, sending him a look full of such adoration that it almost frightened Blaise. "Oh, darling, I don't want to fight!"

"You sure fooled me," he answered sarcastically, sending her a weary look.

"Darling," she cooed, with a tone more obnoxious than the first, "I just want to you to be comfortable and relaxed for a moment."

Blaise dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin and turned from right to left, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes narrowed like a predator on the hunt. "Is the _Daily Prophet _here?"

"Blaise!" she cried, aghast at his suggestion, her blue eyes wide as saucers, but Blaise never noticed the pair sitting across the restaurant that Victoria couldn't keep her eyes off of.

* * *

"I'm so glad you weren't this cynical at Hogwarts, Hermione," Harry chuckled as the waiter returned with their lunch.

"You are mistaking my realism for cynicism, Harry," she replied, stiffly, as she folded her napkin neatly in her lap.

"Sure I am," he retorted, good-naturedly, with a mischievous smile.

"You are, Harry," Hermione argued, picking up her glass and glancing down into the liquid, checking quickly for any misplaced thing like hair or paper or even dirt on the glass.

"So," Harry began as he cut his chicken haphazardly, "do you think this whole European Conference is going to last long?"

"No," she replied, finally taking a sip of her drink, "there are too many countries who refuse to be passive in this -- thank Merlin -- but I don't see what the Minister sees, so who knows how long this will last."

"I just can't imagine telling the guys that we have to go to South America so soon after that disaster in Cambodia," he said plainly, as he gently sat his fork on his plate.

"I know," Hermione answered, softly, her tone as gentle as cat's meow, "but things can only go one of two ways. You, Mr. Potter, have to hope for the best."

"I suppose you are handing me that responsibility?" Harry asked, with a snort, as he picked up his fork again.

"Of course I am," she answered, in a lofty yet serious tone, "you and Ron always did expect too much of me."

Harry sent her the most endearing grin, one she could remember praying to see during those long years after Hogwarts. "Oh, Hermione, but look what you gave us! Everything we ever expected of you, you proved us correct, you never let us down, Hermione, ever!"

"But you seem to forget that I'm no longer that little girl, Harry," Hermione sighed, almost sadly, her eyes devoid of the gleam that had comforted Harry on many nights, "and my search for perfection was replaced with the lonely road to greatness."

"Hermione," he began softly, the gentlest smile playing on his lips, "my road to greatness wasn't all that lonely, I have the slightest notion that yours won't be either."

"I feel like I'm in Berlin in 1940, Harry," she sighed, the exhaustion she felt ringing her tone, "I still can't forget all the things I learned while in Muggle schools."

"You feel like you are attempting to fight Hitler's 'Final Solution'?" Harry recalled, slowly as if the thought had taken a longer route to invade his mind.

"But it is worse, Harry! Wizards have so many other, more effective, ways of killing six million in a smaller time frame!" Hermione cried, pushing her plate back, the food becoming less inviting as the moments wore on.

"Don't fret, Hermione, with Blaise you can't go wrong. He may be a snarky bastard but you two, together, can save the world without me," he replied honestly, while taking a bite of his chicken.

"Don't be vulgar, Harry," she snapped at his reference to his nearest moment to death during the war, when she and Blaise did save the course of an important battle without him.

Harry chuckled at her seriousness, retorting quickly, "Wouldn't it be lovely if we were old? That would mean we would have survived all this. And everything would be easy and uncomplicated, the way it was when we were young."

"What delusional hell are you living in?" Hermione asked quickly, raising a sculpted eyebrow. "It was never uncomplicated, Harry."

"Yes, but it was lovely wasn't it?" he asked, with a nostalgic smile.

"Every waking moment."


	6. In Which One is Recalled to Life

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 5

Author name: Brittney

Author email: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC Politics

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: The discussion on Genocide is taken from the United Nations' General Assembly resolution on Genocide in 1946. This chapter is less political and more personal H/Br moments. Writing this was WEIRD, it was more emotion than the last four chapters put together and I've written so emotionally since I wrote my first short story 'Cry'. Hope Ya'll like!

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 5**

**(Fourteen Days Later)**

"No one warned me that I'd be in one of the most beautiful places in the world with you, of all people," Hermione remarked as she and Blaise wandered around the grounds of the Hotel that most of the Foreign dignitaries had been assigned to.

"Well, I promised the people that I'd do something about the chaos over here," he began, as he loosened the top button of his shirt, "and this was the only solution. So here you are and here I am, what are we to do?"

"These people here are so full of ancient hatred that it barely makes sense," she replied as they entered the large open garden that was the center of the magnificent hotel.

"We would be ones to know about that yet I think the quest for vengeance ended long ago, Hermione," Blaise replied as he gazed around at the vines and flowers that were artistically placed all over the garden, "it's about power, as most of these things are."

"Blaise, these people have resulted to murdering their own people," she argued, as she found a place to sit, "the quest for power has turned into to some sadistic game for them."

"I have to concur," he replied, as he sat next to her, "they enjoy the things that are reported back to them, especially the President."

Hermione grunted as the image of the stout, pug-faced, narcissistic man appeared before her. "I do not want to discuss that vulgar man."

"Okay, change of subject," Blaise announced nonchalantly, although the gleam in his eye announced something slightly different, "how about we discuss something lighter?"

"Lighter?" she questioned, almost apprehensive of his reply. "What do you mean by _lighter_?"

"How about that nice fiancé of yours?" Blaise questioned casually.

"From my interpretation of the scene at the conference a few weeks ago, I don't believe that you think Ian so nice," Hermione retorted, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"He is good enough," Blaise replied, shrugging his shoulders and fumbling clumsily for his words, "but we all have our idiosyncrasies."

She snorted loudly. "And you, Mr. Zabini, would be the one to know about that."

"_Chi_ _me_?" Blaise replied, feigning innocence.

"Yes you," Hermione replied, in all seriousness, "with your jealous temper, your attraction to anything grilled, your penchant for double-breasted Italian tailored suits, your infatuation with silk sheets _and_ undergarments, the way you have to continuously be touching someone to_ feel_ their adoration, and the habit you have of believing that once you own something you'll always own it proves that you aren't the shiniest knife in the drawer."

"I think those things are quite normal," he retorted, with a chuckle, she knew him better than she would like to admit.

"I think most of it is quite weird," replied Hermione, "and I'm sure if I thought about it any longer I'd think of more things."

"Miss, you are the one who feels her books should be alphabetized, her underwear pressed and folded, and that her vegetables should never touch unless they are uniform in color," Blaise answered, as he held back a loud, boisterous, chuckle, "and you wish to call me weird?"

Hermione reddened at the reminder of her own little quirks. "I guess we both are odd in our own ways."

"It's why we got on so well for so long, we are both a tad bit odd," he replied, trying to soothe her slight embarrassment, reaching over to lay his hand on her leg.

Immediately her eyes followed the touch that was burning a hole through her pants. It had been so long since he had even attempted to do anymore than shake her hand, for a moment she was at a lost for words. "I can't believe you would remember all of that."

"How could I forget?" Blaise asked, softly, the moment quickly spiraling from the comfortable moment they had just been experiencing to something a lot less comfortable.

They were interrupted by the appearance of Blaise's Minister of State, Julius Montague. He greeted them both before announcing, "They are ready for the Media conference, Zabini."

"I thought it wasn't until three?" he asked, chancing a glance at his watch which read_ 'an hour and a half until lunch'_.

"No, no, Lavender scheduled your first, here in Brazil, for twelve-fifteen and then when you arrive in Bolivia, in three days, that one is at three, I believe. You will have to go see her, for I'm not completely sure about these dates and times, sir," Julius replied, holding back a yawn, he was so tired from endless diplomatic meetings that he couldn't tell them exactly what day it was.

Hermione stood quickly, straightened out her robes before saying, "Well, I must go see Rodion before you go."

"Are you attending?" Blaise asked, hopefully as she began to exit the garden.

"Of course, it's my job," she replied, with a smile, before she entered the hotel.

"Enjoyed your morning, Zabini?" Julius asked, with a knowing grin.

* * *

"In all honesty," Blaise began strongly, as he stood behind the podium flanked on both sides by delegates from countries all over the world, "I find your question insulting. I am not here take over, I am not here to impose my country's political ways on the good people of this continent, I am here to assist these newly formed governments in a peaceful transition." 

"Sir," another, louder, French accented reporter called, "is it true that the atrocities that have occurred in past months have been labeled as Genocide?"

"Yes," Blaise answered, with a nod of his head, "Genocide has been discovered in several countries."

"Can you give us a definition of the International Confederation of Wizard''s interpretation of the crime that is being committed here? And do you think this is a new phenomenon within the Wizarding world?" asked a tall, imposing, man that Blaise recognized as the Editor of the _Daily Prophet_.

"The ICW simply defines the act of Genocide as the denial of the right to exist of entire species, just as homicide is the denial of the right of an individual to exist. Sir, Genocide is not new to our great community, the way we combat it is new," Blaise answered in such a way that his father, who watched proudly from the crowd, erupted in a rarely seen public smile.

Hermione sat in the very back of the crowd watching the reporters struggle to accost him with different questions, she sat stoically with her countenance devoid of any emotion, she wanted to dissect him. She watched his guarded movements and could easily visualize the quick way he thought over his replies, it was if she could feel his apprehension through his lucid speech. Hermione smirked knowingly as he disarmed and captivated the press, as well as the people, with his euphonious tone and easy going, yet determined, answers.

She noted the way his left hand seemed to be holding onto the side of the podium for dear life while he orally pounded his beliefs into the reporters heads, they it took as a sign of his frustration toward the situation -- because his right hand was frequently being thrown at every angle or being slammed against the podium -- but Hermione could see the training behind the move. He had been trained well, his speech spoke of fire while his eyes spoke nothing of importance while he stood behind that podium. She was sure that his current fiance had something to do with this hypnotized man that she was now faced with.

"Enjoying the show?" Draco Malfoy whispered, as he suavely took the seat next to her.

"Immensely, he's quite good at putting on the front," Hermione replied never taking her eyes off the rotation of his right and left hand.

Draco nodded as he watched his friend closely. "He paid a huge price for that training and he got the best. Notice the rigid lumbar region?"

"It's very slight, Malfoy," she answered softly as another question was thrown at him, "even I didn't think much of it."

"Of course you didn't," Draco grinned, "we worked on that for almost a year and every now and then it comes back to haunt us."

Hermione suddenly realized why his posture was so important. "Blaise's fear of public speaking, I had forgotten."

"At times I forget, too," he replied, his eyes never leaving Blaise, "that is until his back freezes up like it is now."

"I can remember he wanted to be a politician but he was afraid to speak in front of huge crowds," she replied, as his left hand switched positions and did what the right hand was formerly doing, as his right hand latched onto the podium.

"He came up with that little switch move to quickly relax his muscles," Draco pointed out knowing that she, of all people, would notice it, "works wonders for him."

"It was part of my training, as Negotiator Specialist, to read body language," Hermione answered, as her eyes chanced a glance at the blond, "and he is doing a better job at it than men who've been in politics long before we were ever born."

Suddenly Draco chuckled, it was soft yet it resounded in Hermione's ears, it was barely heard by anyone else but she heard it clearly. "I did not sit here to discuss my mate's acting abilities."

"Then why did you sit here?" she questioned, quickly raising an eyebrow.

"I sat here for what our dear Ginny would say would be more sinister reasons," Draco replied, with his trademark smirk.

* * *

Hermione stood in the mist of what seemed to be the most earth shattering scene that anyone could witness. A scene filled with smoking houses, dirt roads, crying children, and lost adults. She stood in the middle of that scene, along with a party of six others, surveying some of the destruction caused by all of the political chaos. Her hand shakily flew to her mouth as she watched people weep over dead bodies and cracked foundations, it was bringing back memories that she thought she'd never relive. 

"Sir," Carrick Blair called to Blaise, who answered with less than a nod, "these families are mostly purebred, they were accused of sympathizing with the old regime."

"Simply _accused,_" Blaise mumbled as he gazed at a small child who clung to his mother's leg, not entirely sure of what was going on but he could feel his mother's body tremble with her sobs.

"Blaise," Carrick whispered, as he stepped closer to his colleague, "these people are guaranteed nothing by the president, if anything is promised it's more grief."

"I can only imagine," Blaise mumbled, as he went to pick up a piece of doll that had been clutched by some missing little girl who may never return to her family.

"What we can't figure out is what they are doing with the ones that they are taking as prisoners," Carrick whispered, as he watched Blaise caress the miniature toy.

Meanwhile, Draco stood next to Hermione as she watched the scene unfold before her eyes. He watched her bite her lip before he snarled, "This is just like Voldemort, except these men claim to be human."

"Well," she began as she smiled at a pair of children who played in the mist of the destruction, "then we just have to fight this just as we fought Voldemort."

"It seems every wizard in the world just wants to stop hearing about it," Draco said as he slowly ran his fingers across the brink of a barely standing wall. "It's like they see this and say 'Oh my God, that is horrid,' and then go on drinking their tea! The bloody _Daily Prophet _has taken it from the front-page to a small corner on the back of the paper, no one seems to care."

Hermione frowned as she turned to face the blond that she had hated for most of her life and couldn't remember when, in the mist of curses and blood, that she ceased feeling that way. She searched his serious countenance before replying, "I sometimes wonder when did everyone grow up."

"What?" Draco questioned, confused, that reply was not on the lines that he was expecting.

"Malfoy," she whispered, taking his arm as she walked the other way, "when we were at school you wouldn't even have been one to say how horrible it was and now you are insulted at the rest of the worlds ignorance. Your maturity still startles me at times."

"Ginerva thinks it is sexy," he smirked as they neared the group.

Hermione chuckled softly but the atmosphere hindered her laughter. "I think it's rather frightening."

"I think it's time to go back to the hotel," Blaise whispered as he softly sat the doll back on the ground and made his way back to the carriages.

"You want to go . . . _comfort_ him?" Draco asked, jokingly, as they watched Blaise's retreating form.

"Malfoy," she answered, seriously, as she watched the solemn Italian, "I don't think anyone could make him feel any better about this mess."

* * *

Hermione pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders as she approached the silent figure who was leaning silently over the veranda's railing. She bit her lip as she contemplated her next move, either she could run back to her room or she could voice the question that had been eating at her all afternoon. Hermione shivered from the cool ocean air that drifted from the coast miles away, watching him watch the stars confused her, the feeling it ignited within her confused her more. 

"I know I shouldn't care but nevertheless," she mumbled, as she slowly reached out to touch his back, "are you okay, Zabini?"

Blaise nodded slowly, sighing loudly and swallowing hard. "I -- I didn't think that I'd ever be reminded so strongly."

"Reminded?" Hermione questioned knowingly, as she leaned against the rail beside him. "You mean of the war?"

Blaise nodded blankly. She had known as she watched him retreat earlier that scenes were playing inside his head, scenes that he would never be able to erase. Scenes that played through her own mind night after night, during the most unexpected moments they would rewind themselves and play over and over like a broken record. Some were so devastating that not even the greatest director would ever be able to recreate them.

"I can see her," Blaise whispered, his voice shaky and lined with emotion, "I can see her little body jerking uncontrollably, her green eyes wide, as the curse connected with her chest and the doll -- the doll just flies out of her hand and yet I -- I couldn't catch it."

Hermione was struck speechless. She wasn't there when Blaise, Draco, and a few others had tried to save a small Wizarding town from approaching Death Eaters but the story was well known by the survivors of the town. She could find no words so she whispered all that would come to mind, "Oh, Blaise."

"One little girl," he grumbled, the bitterness echoing in his hollow chuckle, "one little girl who I'd never met in my life before that night, haunts me to this day. I lost her six years ago and I still can't help but wonder would she have been going to Beauxbatons this year or what she would have become when she grew-up. Her little eyes haunt me and the cry of her mother, as her little body collapsed on the ground, still echoes in my head. I couldn't save her and now they expect me to save an entire continent!"

"But you saved most of the town, Blaise," Hermione replied, trying her best to be comforting, "her life was not lost in vain."

"What about the doll I saw today? Where is that little girl, where are her parents, where is the house she used to live in? How in the hell can I save her if I can't even find her?" he cried, helplessly, the stress of the situation weighing heavily upon his emotions.

"Because you are committed to righting these wrongs," she tried, searching aimlessly toward encouragement, "saving a life is tantamount to saving an entire world. The loss of one little girl will aid you in saving thousands more like her."

Blaise chuckled darkly. "Where'd this optimism come from?"

"Being Harry Potter's best friend for most of my life gave me plenty of practice," she grinned, as he finally turned to face her and the grin fell from her face.

"I need to go Owl Victoria," he announced somberly, completely out of no where. He hadn't spoke of his fiancé since they had arrived and the sound of her name made Hermione feel somewhat uncomfortable.

Hermione nodded as he made a move to enter the hotel yet halfway to the door he turned toward her with a strange look. "Regret is usually a waste of time isn't it?"

She frowned at his strange question, neither understanding nor comprehending the meaning or the reason, yet she proceeded to answer, "Usually."


	7. In Which Confrontation Is Rejected

Title: Truth Is

Chapter: 6

Author name: Brittney

Author email: Romance

Sub Category: Drama

Keywords: Blaise Hermione OC Politics

Rating: PG-13

Spoilers: SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

Summary: Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Author notes: I like this chapter. Thanks to my beta! You know I'm not so sure whether I want sympathy for Victoria or not. I'm still trying to complete her character. Enjoy!

* * *

**"Truth Is"**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

**(Three Days Later: Bolivia)**

* * *

Hermione smiled painfully as she watched the tall, lithe, beautiful woman make her way toward her. Cecania Knight-Braun was one of the most beautiful women Hermione had ever met; her stiff posture, perfect hair, petite frame, and lack of interesting expression spoke volumes for her German royal-like training. Ian's eldest sister had spent so much time in Germany, after her family moved to England to run the hospital, that her accent was of one who hadn't learned English at the very moments that she was learning German. Hermione hugged her warmly as she wrapped her thin arms around Hermione in such way that most would label cold but Hermione realized that it was as close to warm as Cecania could get.

The thirty-year-old smiled, stepping back from Hermione to look her over. "My little brother making you happy, no?"

"Yes," Hermione grinned, not wanting the aristocratic woman to know that she hadn't had contact with her brother in days, "he makes me very happy. What brings you to Bolivia, Cecania?"

"I'm sure that you are aware of Germany's neutral stance?" the politically savvy brunette began.

"Of course," Hermione replied as she nodded a greeting to Carrick Blair as he exited the hotel.

"Well," Cecania continued, while she and Hermione made their way to a sitting area, "my husband, Hans, is now the Assistant to our Minister of Magic and has been assigned to tour the area and assess where Germany shall stand."

"Hans is in politics now? Not very surprising," Hermione retorted, thinking of the handsome and intelligent man that she had met many times.

Cecania smiled proudly, her smile was polite yet it lacked the appearance of her perfectly white teeth. "You are here on assignment, no? Mother talks of you all the time, she -- she says you are in the papers a lot, no?"

"Well," Hermione began humbly, "I probably am in the papers quite a lot. It seems, Cecania, that I've become part of England's Ministry of Magic."

"Well, if you weren't before then you should be," she retorted, "Ian says you are very intelligent woman."

"Ian says a lot about me," Hermione whispered, her voice almost in a tremble. She couldn't stop thinking that Ian's high opinion of her was less than deserved.

"Mother thinks she should visit you two often," Cecania continued as if Hermione had said nothing, "but father believes that you will make a wonderful wife to the Knight Heir."

"Wife?" Hermione gasped, Ian and she had spoke nothing of settling down. Marriage was a situation that she had spoken of with one other man and the prospects of that working out was well into the negative.

"Of course," Cecania giggled, in such a serious way that only she could pull off, "you will have a wonderful life. And I dare say I need a sister in this male infested family."

"Sounds lovely," Hermione mumbled, "but don't German Heirs usually have to marry a fellow Purebred German, like Hans for example?"

"_Liebling,_" Cecania chuckled, her German slipping from her lips before she could hurry to correct herself, "darling -- I mean -- today we are most important family in German society, it does not matter who my brother marries so long as he does!"

"Oh," Hermione gasped, completely surprised at the proud German's reply, "how very . . . _liberal_."

"Well," Cecania announced, as she rose from her chair with a soft sigh, "I must meet Hans at the orphanage. We will have lunch together soon, no?"

"Of course," Hermione answered politely, kissing the tall woman on both her cheeks before she picked up her hat and gloves.

"Auf Wiedersehen, Hermione," Cecania replied politely as she turned to walk away.

"Good bye, Cecania," Hermione replied with a heavy sigh, who was she fooling, for once in her life she was unprepared.

* * *

"Who in the hell gave you the right to look so -- so well rested this early in the morning?" Blaise growled as Draco entered his room with a cheerful mood.

"The same god that gave me the good sense to use the dark hours for slumber," Draco retorted in an innocent voice, as he sat comfortably on Blaise's couch.

"Could you not speak if you must sound so damn chipper?" Blaise frowned, throwing the Owl post onto his desk.

"Zabini, why are so you exhausted this fine morning?" Draco asked as he tried to figure out a way to get a drink without _Accioing _the cup.

"Didn't I ask you not to speak, Draco?" Blaise groaned, massaging his temple with his fore fingers. "But if you must know, I don't seem to be able to sleep when the world is destroying itself."

"You aren't here to save the world, _Potter_," Draco replied sarcastically, "you are here to use your fine politicking to save these people's livelihood."

"Wouldn't that worry you, Draco?" Blaise asked, briefly looking up at his friend before opening a letter.

"To be entrusted with the fate of an entire people? It wouldn't worry a Malfoy but they didn't give one the job so it's not the same," Draco answered arrogantly as he finally got up to retrieve the glass of Pumpkin Juice that he'd been wanting.

"Shut-up, Draco," Blaise replied simply, his friends arrogance nagging at his lack of rest.

"However," Draco began, as he indulged in the drink he had enjoyed since early childhood, "since they gave you the job you must be qualified. Don't fret, Zabini, or you'll be gray-haired as your dear old _Papa_!"

"Are you really asking me to hit you this early in the morning?" Blaise growled, as he sat at the desk that he had been previously leaning on.

"No, not exactly." Draco shrugged as he finished his pumpkin juice.

Blaise glared at him for a moment before asking, "Where's Granger?"

"Actually," Draco began with a long, dramatic sigh, while he sat his feet up on the coffee table, "I don't know. Last I saw of her she was conversing with a very beautiful German woman. Legs, lots of legs, thick chestnut hair, shockingly thin, flawless skin, and apparently good breeding."

Blaise's eyebrows furrowed as he did a quick mental search, all the while wondering how did Draco notice that with only a brief sighting. "Isn't her fiance German?"

"The entire Knight clan is German," Draco answered automatically but ended with a grin. "Why do you care, Blaise? Scared that one of them is going to rush her back to Germany to protect her from the Insane Italian?"

"Sod off, Draco," Blaise sighed as he began to read a letter from his mother.

Draco chuckled softly, almost to himself, whispering aloud, "The trouble with some people is that they work too hard and then wonder why they can't relax every now and then."

"At least some of us work, Draco," Blaise snapped as he finished the entirety of his mother's page and a half correspondence.

"Don't sound so jealous, Blaise," Draco grinned, leaning on the side of the desk that Blaise occupied, "it isn't the least bit attractive."

Blaise groaned loudly, mornings like these were when he wished he had no friends. "Don't you need to write Ginerva?"

"Not at the moment, no."

"Don't you want to go bother Granger?" Blaise pleaded.

"No," Draco replied simply, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth , "not at the moment."

"Don't you want to explore the beauty of the Bolivian women?" Blaise tried again.

"Ginerva wouldn't appreciate that suggestion much," Draco whispered, the smirk more obvious.

"True," Blaise sighed, a vision of the pretty redhead angry appeared before him. "You aren't going anywhere today are you?"

"No," Draco grinned, as he slid into the chair in front of the desk, "I'm not."

* * *

Blaise returned to his room with a sigh, it was twilight out and his room was filled with such colors that he could have sworn, if he did not know any better, that his niece and nephews had taken paint to his walls. He sighed as the afternoons activities came back to haunt his body, at twenty-eight his body ached more than his father's, who was quickly approaching sixty. Blaise threw his robe on the bed, thinking that one should never say that Landlocked Bolivia did not have perfect tanning weather, and unbuttoned the first three buttons on his shirt. He finally looked up at the desk, that was sitting across the room, and was accosted with two big brown eyes when he quickly lit the candles in the room with his wand.

"What are you doing here?" he asked the woman who had missed all of the Media frenzies that evening.

Hermione shrugged, her voice low, hinting, momentarily, at defeat. "I couldn't think of anywhere else to go."

"So you decided to come to me?" Blaise asked, almost irritably, as he pulled off his shoes.

Hermione sighed loudly before turning her back to him. "It wasn't a conscious decision, Blaise."

Blaise watched her stoic body before moving himself to sit on the desk next to her chair. "But it was a decision that was made . . . so what's wrong, Hermione? Something must be wrong for you to be sitting in my room."

She sent him a half-smile, accompanied by a soft sigh. "Why am I here? Blaise, I couldn't tell you. This morning I had a run-in with Ian's sister and I haven't been quite right since."

"Worried you don't love the old-man?" Blaise asked, chuckling at his choice of words.

"It's not that I don't love Ian," Hermione answered quickly, still not connecting her gaze with the Italian next to her, "I do, I know I do, but I . . . don't know if I love him enough to marry him."

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "And you came to discuss that with me?"

"No," she sighed, her voice becoming increasingly despondent, "I just thought -- I don't know."

"Maybe you thought I'd understand?" he questioned softly, as blue met brown and something akin to understanding flew between them.

"Do you?" Hermione asked, more unsure of anything than she had ever been.

"I do," the Italian whispered, crossing his arms his chest while leaning back on the desk, "the funny thing is, Hermione, that I know that I have yet to learn to love Victoria. However, I can tolerate her, and her numerous calls upon my integrity _and _my bank account, enough to marry her."

"Why would you want to marry someone if all you can do is tolerate them?" she questioned, watching the change of countenance take place on Blaise's striking features.

"I've only been in love once, Hermione," he began looking at her for a reaction, he received none, "and at this moment marrying the person I love is zero chance. So, Miss Granger, tolerance will do."

Hermione frowned, biting her lip before asking, "Do you not have faith in forgiveness?"

"What?" Blaise retorted, unsure of her question.

"Don't you believe in forgiveness, Blaise?" she repeated.

"Not everyone deserves forgiveness, Hermione," he replied as he stood and made his way over to the mini-bar, "and you of all people know that."

"When everyone else has forgiven you," Hermione stated, her voice more lucid than it had been since that morning, "what is stopping you from forgiving yourself?"

"Everyone hasn't forgiven me, Hermione," Blaise replied directing a glare her way, sighing loudly before he gulped down his glass of Brandy. "Why are we talking about forgiveness? I thought we were discussing your fear about marrying Ian Knight?"

"We were," she answered as she rose and made her way over to him, their bodies so close that she could she the gentle fall and rise of his chest, "but apparently we both have some unresolved fears and I've decided that there needs to be some confrontation around here."

"I don't do confrontation very well," he replied simply, pouring himself another drink.

Hermione snorted. "Well, I already knew that."

Blaise glared at her before taking a small sip of his poison. "Hermione, I think you should go."

"Sure," she answered confused, she feared she had insulted him, while looking over at the clock that was pointing to eight-thirty.

"Honestly, Hermione, I want you to stay," he spoke softly, running his knuckles over her cheek, "so you should go."

"Yea," Hermione whispered looking up into his dark blue eyes before she walked toward the door. Before she opened it she turned to him and asked, "You know what you asked me the other night, about regret?"

"I remember," Blaise replied, as he tried to keep his eyes from memorizing the tint of the fading candlelight on her cheek.

"Sometimes regrets can help you change things," she whispered, as she turned the doorknob, "goodnight, Blaise."

He nodded respectively. "Goodnight."

* * *

Blaise sighed loudly as he dropped the quill on a crowded piece of parchment and ignored the ink puddles that smeared the perfected cursive that crowded the parchment. He ran his fingers over invisible perspiration on his forehead and shook his head at the mess he was dealing with. Things were progressing at a snails pace and no one wanted to listen to reason, so day by day the stench that filled the air became worse. Which left Blaise, and the ICW, wondering when would the muggles become suspicious because the smell of rotting flesh and hungry stomachs was so strong no one could mask it. Biting his lip he decided that it was time for supper and made his way over to the door just as his secretary was making her way in.

Lavender smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Zabini, I was just running in to warn you."

Blaise raised an eyebrow and asked tiredly, "Warn me of what?"

"You have a visitor," Lavender replied, squinting her eyes, as a short brunette ran up to her and grabbed two scrolls out of her hand.

"Who?" Blaise asked, as he fingered the intricate detail on the frame of the door.

"Miss Carrington," Lavender whispered quickly, as a familiar voice presented itself and she made her way away from the Minister.

"Oh, Blaise!" Victoria called as she made her way down the hall in an outfit that could only be labeled as "American Debutante". She wore tapered robes over a Salmon pink suit that fit her every curve with matching heels, handbag, and hat. It was a get-up that Blaise had learned to deal with since he became involved with her but it wasn't his favorite choice of clothing for women.

"Victoria," he sighed, smiling politely as she kissed his cheeks with such fervor it almost exhausted him, "what are you doing here?"

"Did you really think that I'd let you trample around this paradise alone?" she asked as she pushed passed him and entered his room.

"Honestly," Blaise began as helped her out of her robes, he could see the little drops of perspiration dotting her forehead, "I thought you would, I know how you hate to sweat."

"Father told me that it was my duty to be by your side," Victoria replied with a sickeningly sweet smile as she pulled off her pumps, "true Politician wives never leave their husbands alone for long."

"We aren't married yet," he remarked blandly, as she wrapped her arms around his narrow, defined, waist.

"Mmhh," Victoria moaned, as she nuzzled her nose into the gentle dip between his neck and collarbone, "but we will be soon."

"Victoria," Blaise groaned, as he less than gently pushed her off of him, "it is too hot for all this touching."

Victoria growled, irritably, placing her manicured hands on her slender hips as Blaise walked away from her, fanning himself. "What is going on, Blaise?"

"Nothing, Victoria," Blaise asked as he opened the window and magically paper weighted the parchment to prevent it from flying out the window.

"It's happening isn't it?" she asked as she stormed her way over to him and pulled his arm so that he would face her.

"Look, Victoria --" he began but was interrupted by a loud groan from the second party.

"Oh, gods, please don't start a sentence with _look_, it's always bad news," Victoria groaned as her eyes narrowed and Blaise rolled his eyes at her dramatics.

"Look, Victoria," Blaise began again, more deliberate in his tone, "I've been working nonstop and I haven't any time for petty romance."

"Petty romance?" she questioned loudly, genuine hurt showing itself in her words. "Is that how you see us?"

He sighed inwardly, running his fingers through his hair. "Victoria, apparently I don't have the answer you seek, so why --"

Victoria quickly interrupted him, her voice becoming more shrill as her temper went through the roof. "The truth is always the right answer! Damn it, Blaise, just tell me the truth!"

"Bloody hell," Blaise mumbled as he grabbed both of her arms and spoke evenly, "calm down, Victoria. There is nothing else to be said, you've had a long apparition and I've had a long few weeks so why don't we both go to bed. It would be good for both of us."

Victoria's anger peaked at a fit of tears and she collapsed, dramatically, into Blaise's arms. "It's over isn't it? This sordid game has finally ended."

"Nothing is ending, Victoria," Blaise whispered as he gently scooped her up in his arms and gently laid her on his bed. She lay with her blond hair framing her head around the pillow and her blue eyes staring up at Blaise innocently and he couldn't help but think how much like an angel that she looked.

"You are tired of pretending aren't you?" she asked as she looked up at the Italian. When he failed to reply she spoke again, "I can see it in your eyes now, I used to be able to ignore it but tonight you are failing to play your part. How long have we been playing, Blaise? Three years, four, or what? I can't remember when you first decided your political career was more important than that Granger woman. I just didn't think it would be over so soon."

"Go to sleep, Victoria," he answered softly, as he blew out all of the candles and made his way over to a plush chair, "you are rambling ridiculously."


	8. In Which Accusations Are Made

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter:** 7

**Summary:** Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** These darn Characters just seem to write their own dialogue for I swear the third scene WROTE itself. I have no idea about the REAL politics in these countries I'm just making people, situations, and etc. up as I go. Does anyone else like the way I wrote Blaise in this chapter and the last? He reminds me so of Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) in "Gone With The Wind."

_unwissend (German) stupid/ignorant_

_amore (Italian)love._

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 7**

**(Two Days Later: Bolivia)

* * *

**

Victoria watched her as she, effortlessly, charmed the group of Bolivian dignitaries with her smile and enchanting ways. Victoria could see the preparation and meaning that filled Hermione Granger's work, the commitment in which she felt for everything she did. She had only been watching her for two days but she could see it, sometimes she could feel it, it seemed to radiate from her very being. These errant observations did nothing to soothe the hell that Victoria was trying to deal with. Blaise kept up the farce in public but the moment they returned to the hotel would be the loneliest moments of Victoria's life. She glanced over at the man that she was supposed to marry, sending him a small glare, as Hermione smiled politely as the bane of everyone's existence, the President of Brazil, kissed her hand and gave her a gentleman like greeting. Victoria looked over at Blaise, again, who was indulging himself in the same sport that she had just pulled her eyes from. Sighing loudly she looked around the crowded room once more, wondering why Blaise thought it appropriate to bring her to a Negotiation Luncheon when he really wanted to send her back home to her father.

"Don't look so disgusted, Victoria," Blaise growled in her ear, leaning over like a lover whispering his eternal adoration.

Victoria smiled tightly, mumbling, "Don't stare at her so."

"I'm not staring," Blaise replied harshly, leaving a few drops of spit in her hair, "I'm observing."

"Observing what?" Victoria snapped, her controlled demeanor becoming painfully kept. "The gentle way that small dimple appears next to her lip when she laughs?"

"Someone besides myself has been staring," Blaise scoffed, as he nodded at a passing politician from America, "I was observing how comfortable these men seem to be with her. She will be a huge asset to me when this whole mess finally comes to a head."

"Blaise," she tried, her voice softer and her eyes begging for something that she never really had.

"Yes," he replied softly, smiling as Draco took Hermione from the group of men who were receiving her attention.

"May I be direct?" Victoria asked, her Southern manners, being raised in Texas assured many that she was to at least be polite, making heed over her anger.

"You want to speak," Blaise answered blandly, turning an interested eye toward her, "and I have no objection to hearing it."

"Why did you have to run for England's Minister of Magic, if--" she began, softly, but was silenced by Blaise's quick retort.

"What is wrong with us has nothing to do with my political success and you know it."

Victoria nodded, trying to hold her tongue, before picking up her wine glass and drinking the whole of it in one gulp. "So why did you start this? Were you just bored with her? Or was she being a prude and wouldn't do the things that I would?"

"I was never bored with her," he replied watching as Hermione left Draco to speak to a couple that seemed extremely elated to see her, "I just wanted to get where I am."

"Oh," she whispered, holding back any emotion that she felt, her extensive training aided her cause, "so you used me to do that?"

"It didn't start that way," Blaise replied, glancing over a the angry blond, wondering why they were entertaining this conversation at that particular moment, "I came to your father for support but you started the game of seduction and I, in my ignorance, didn't end it."

Victoria choked back a sob. Those moments in which she would utter three words to Blaise were hardly a lie and the current revelation actually stung more than she anticipated. "If you would excuse me, Blaise."

Blaise stood, as a true gentleman should, as she fled his presence not noticing the pain lacing her tone. "Of course."

* * *

"Ah," Hermione whispered, as she was kissed on the cheek by a tall, broad-chested, blond, well-dressed man, "Hans, what a pleasure it is."

Hans Braun gave a smile that greatly rivaled his cold wife's smile. He held her arms length and looked her over appreciatively. "The pleasure is all mine, Hermione. Ian told me to make sure you looked healthy."

Hermione smiled at the man's chuckle, his voice sounding more British to her than Cecania's. "Hans, I feel fine."

"Good, good," Hans replied as he linked arms with the two women at his side. "Should we be seated?"

"Shall you eat with us, Hermione?" Cecania asked, hopefully, as Hans pulled out a chair for her.

"I would love to but I have work to do," Hermione replied, her tone sounding a tad disappointed, "as do you, Hans."

Hans nodded looking over at the crowd of men who were beginning to enter the hall. "Well, at least allow me to fetch you a drink?"

"Absolutely," she accepted with a smile.

Cecania watched her husband's retreat from the table silently before speaking in a hushed tone. "What is it about love that makes people so . . . _unwissend_?"

"Excuse me?" Hermione whispered, frowning, Cecania's slip into the German language threw her off guard.

"Stupid, ignorant!" Cecania spat, fire blazing in her eyes.

"What are you talking about, Cecania?" she asked, rather confused but quickly becoming irritated at the grating tone of Cecania's voice and her audacity to insult her intelligence.

"I'm talking about this foolish affair with your Minister of Magic, if I may speak so frankly," Cecania replied, her voice in a sharp whisper.

"No," Hermione snapped, trying her best to keep a straight face, "you may not speak so candidly because you have no idea what you are talking about!"

Cecania stiffened, her hazel eyes glaring holes through Hermione. "Maybe that is so but I know only what Ian says."

Hermione bit her lip impatiently, gently stretching her neck, whispering harshly, "And what does Ian know? He hasn't been here one day since I arrived, not one day! He sits at home making _absurd _assumptions while I am surrounded by some of the worst men in the world. Even if I were that kind of woman, Mrs. Braun, I would not have the _time_, let alone the _energy_, to carry out that kind of affair."

Cecania nodded her head slowly, her eyes trained upon her glove-clad fingers, she was silent for a few moments after Hermione's litany. "If I have insulted you, _Hermione_, I apologize. I was only looking out for my younger brother."

"I am not interested in your apologizes, Mrs. Braun," she replied coldly, as Hans returned with her drink and in turn she began to walk away, "the only thing I am worried about is why a man, who professes to love me, would allow me this time with a man that he is so suspicious of."

The Brauns watched her walk away silently, one rather confused and the other extremely flustered. Hans sat beside his wife with a frown, his eyes still trained on the brunette who had just stormed away from their table. "What is wrong, Cecania?"

"Honestly," she whispered, as she turned halfway in her seat to catch another glimpse of Hermione's retreat, "Hans, I cannot tell you because I do not know."

* * *

"That Carlo Santiago is something, isn't he?" Blaise stated gently, as he leaned on door frame, glass in his hand and a smirk on his face.

Hermione, who had been standing stoically at the bay window, looking up into the rolling hills of the countryside, turned to him with her eyebrows raised, surprised at his appearance. "He is, I can't believe that he is actually trying to pull the wool over our eyes."

"It's his job," Blaise replied, with a shrug, "he _is _a politician."

Hermione raised a weary eyebrow. "So are you."

"Point made," he smirked, charmingly, as he approached her slowly, his legs moving in such a way that one could only characterize it as musical.

"Do you think this will end soon?" Hermione asked, turning back to the window, and the soft mist that was masquerading as rain.

"Of course I do, Hermione," Blaise replied, as he lay his broad fingers at the small of her back, "we have these pseudo-Death Eaters right where we want them!"

"Then we go home," she whispered, as she wrapped her arms around her petite frame.

"Well, don't sound so _bloody _happy about it, Hermione," he chuckled, charmingly, looking down at her emotionless face. "I would've thought that going home would make your little heart beat faster with anticipation."

"I do miss Harry," she replied, with a crooked smile, "and Ginny and Ron's endless Owl's. But I'm not sure where Ian and I will stand once I return."

Blaise frowned. After their talk the other day she hadn't acted as if it bothered her any longer but obviously it was still on her mind. "Hermione, with the mess my fiance and I are in I am not in any condition to be giving advice. However, our history calls for at least a moment of effort, so if Ian truly loves you he will be willing to work through whatever the problem is."

"Easier said then done, Zabini," Hermione remarked quickly, still not looking up at the Italian. "You see, you know that you don't love Victoria Carrington but I know that I do love Ian Knight."

"See right there is your biggest character flaw," Blaise chuckled, downing the last of his Martini.

"What?" she questioned, looking up at him, her eyes narrowed and her mouth settled in a thin line.

"You love too many men," he stated simply, nodding his head to emphasize his belief in his answer.

"What?" she asked, again, feeling like a broken record. Quickly her eyes danced from the glass to Blaise, blatantly asking, "Are you _drunk_?"

"No, no, not at all, Granger. I am completely sober, maybe that's my problem," Blaise replied, with a smirk, "you see you love more men than you can handle. First was your father, which is fine, but then comes your Gryffindor males, Dumbledore, Hagrid, the Head Boy, MacMillian, Rodion, then me and now Ian. It leaves your emotions too frazzled to allow you to think straight."

"If you are implying that men are the reasons why women are so moody then you are completely correct," Hermione replied softly, as she looked back at the window.

"Being male, Hermione, I reject that wholeheartedly," he said with a chuckle. "But I am implying that they are the reason that you and I are having this conversation."

Hermione smiled. "I concur." No sooner were her words spoken before silence encompassed the pair.

"You know," Blaise began, pausing for a moment as a House-elf filled his glass, "we used to be friends."

"True," she whispered, turning her gaze back toward the mountains. "Now, why is that a valid statement at the moment?"

"Because I just wanted you to know . . ." he began but trailed off as he turned to face her. Watching silently as her brown eyes looked up at him, characteristically, full of questions.

"Know what?" Hermione asked, unconsciously playing with the thin strap of her formal dress.

"Life without _amore _is no life at all," Blaise replied simply, a smirk playing on the corner of his lips, before quickly exiting the hall, not once looking back to see her reaction.

Hermione was more than taken back by the whole scene, his moment of supposed revelation shocking her to innermost core, even with though he only managed to confused her more. Blaise wasn't by nature an affectionate man but in their years together some of her compassion had rubbed off on him; yet, she never expected him to speak so frankly with their lives being so far apart. Hermione watched him, with a frown, saunter back into the Luncheon, his countenance as aloof as it was when he had stepped out.

* * *

_Hermione,_

_Your letter came as quite a surprise when it arrived yesterday. I wasn't expecting you to write so soon, after the whole correspondence about Draco. Mum still isn't happy about it but she's dealing, at least she's still coming by to cook me breakfast on Saturdays so I'm not going to complain. But what I will complain about is the miles between us, how I wish I could be there with you so we could work this out. _

_Hermione, I'm completely out of answers for you. What seems completely right to one could be completely wrong for another. However, I do have one puzzling, and rather personal, question for you. Did you ever talk to him about what happened? Now, before you get all indignant on me, I'm only asking did you sit down and have a completely casual conversation about the worst moment in your life; I'm asking did you ever ask him the one thing that I know has been haunting you for almost four years. I know that the answer is no, Hermione; so, that may be the one reason why coming home seems to eat at you so and, if Ian is the man I believe he is, he knows what has been going on with you. It doesn't take much to see it, especially if you know the history behind you pair._

_I hate to bring this to your attention, Mum obviously wouldn't want me to, but if there was one memorable thing about you and Blaise it would be the love you shared. You two loved each other more than any couple -- besides Mum and Dad -- that I've ever met. I guess that's why I, myself, have been wanting to ask Blaise what went wrong. Ron told me it would be in my best interest if I acted as if your relationship with Blaise was horrid from the from the very beginning. But if I did that everything would still have a flip side because if you lie there is always the truth. So, Hermione, why don't you start at the truth?_

_I guess -- and maybe it's my extended correspondence with Draco Malfoy -- I am more on Blaise's side than on Ian's. Because I've seen you happier, Hermione, and like mum says 'happiness is all that matters'. So with that said I approach the more dangerous portion of this letter. I beg you do not send me a Howler and do not curse my descendants for this next proposition, please, I am begging you. Kiss him, Hermione, kiss the arrogance right out of him. It's the only way that you will figure out if what you are feeling is your heart or if it's all in your mind. _

_Hermione, don't forget that love is a rather complicated emotion that you and I may never live long enough to understand._

_Your friend,_

_ Ginny Weasley_

_P. S. I almost forgot! You should have told that Cecania Knight-Braun to go to hell! You would never cheat on Ian without knowing if he was cheating first! Now that is a moment worthy of indignation._


	9. In Which this is For Lovers Only

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter:** 8

**Summary: **Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

**DISCLAIMER: **This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** This is OFFICIALLY an AU story because Blaise is still Italian. College has kept me away so long I'm sorry and I hope ya'll are still reading and I hope this lives up to ya'll expectations.

* * *

**"Truth Is"**

**Chapter 8

* * *

**

**(A Week Later: Peru)**

Ginny's letter had left Hermione with a multitude of thoughts none of which lead to a decent decision. It had been a week since Bolivia had held the conference with several South American dignitaries and it had been a week since anything substantial had been said on the Genocide. With those two facts pulling at her mind Hermione was left with not a moment of peace as everything seemed to be at a stagnant standstill. She ran her fingers through her thick hair as Ginny's words ran through her mind for what seemed to be the millionth time. Had she been happier? If so she couldn't remember for everything in her memory seemed to start with Ian but her heart knew that wasn't right because just the sight of Blaise sent it racing.

"I knew I'd find you here," came a soft tenor voice from the doorway of her room and she struggled to find a suitable expression as she turned to greet the voice.

"Ian," she whispered, her lips finally curling up in a smile as she rose to receive his embrace, "what a surprise."

Ian smiled down at her with a such a sweet expression that Hermione felt rather traitorous. "I knew it would be."

"What brings you here?" Hermione questioned, after he leaned in for a short kiss.

"Well, I was reading the _Daily Prophet _the other morning when I ran across an article about the situation over here and I just knew that you wouldn't be home for our anniversary. So I decided to come to you for a few days," he answered, pushing a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

She sighed softly, she had completely forgot about their anniversary in the mist of the thoughts that were bombarding her. "How thoughtful but can the hospital spare you during such a crisis?"

"Father says they will get on famously and I am determined to just enjoy being with you for a few days," Ian replied, as he threw a smirk at her and made his way into her sitting room off the side of the bedroom.

Hermione nervously frowned at his retreating form and rung her hands before following him into the sitting room. She searched for something to say without revealing how frustrated she was at being found so utterly unprepared, being unprepared was something she always hated. She bit her lip as he sat on the beige couch with a half-weary sigh before glancing over at her with a smile, saying, "I missed you, Liebe."

Hermione tried to relax as she replied, quite honestly, "I missed you, too, Ian."

"Cecania tells me you ran into her last week," Ian remarked jovially as he reacheed over to pickup the newspaper off the table.

"Yes, we ran into each other," she replied stiffly as she made her way over to the bar, trying not to think of the encounter which left her mildly irritated, "would you like something to drink?"

"A glass of Pumpkin juice will hit the spot, Liebe," Ian replied thoughtlessly as he continued to glance over the paper, "was it a very _pleasant _meeting?"

Suddenly Hermione's head rose from the bar, her eyebrow raising in question, it wasn't Ian's style to be blunt -- for fear it would warrant confrontation -- but his tone was asking something. So Hermione did what she did best, told it exactly how she knew it as she walked over and handed him his cup. "No, it was not pleasant in the least and if I am correct -- which I usually am -- the only reason you decided on this surprise visit is because of your snobby sister's commentary on our visit. So what is it that really brings you here, Ian? Our anniversary or the fear that we may not have anything to celebrate anymore?"

* * *

"Blaise, you did excellent," Victoria remarked, honestly, as her fiance and a few people on his staff returned from a speaking engagement that had them tied up all morning.

Blaise blankly looked at her a moment, trying to read her sincerity, before smiling as he sat his desk, replying, "Thank you, Victoria."

Several people in the room looked upon the exchange with genuine surprise, Blaise hadn't shown much respect for the debutante in the last few weeks in public or in private. It was public knowledge that Blaise wasn't feeling anything toward the woman who still wore his ring and it was common knowledge that Victoria was a woman in love, alone. Lavender looked between the two for a moment before speaking, "I'm going to get tomorrow's schedule written out and on your desk before I retire. Good speech, Blaise."

"Thanks, Lav, that'll be fine," he replying, nodding his good-bye as the brunette exited his room.

"Excellent, excellent job, Minister," Carrick Blair said as he followed Lavender out of the room, "I'm sure we'll be home in no time."

Blaise chuckled loudly, a chuckle that sent Victoria's soft blue eyes gazing at the smile that graced his handsome features. "I'm glad someone around here has the capacity to be optimistic, Blair!"

"That's why I'm here, sir," Carrick replied, good-naturedly, before closing the door behind him leaving the two distant lovers alone.

"You really are going to be a truly remarkable minister, Blaise," Victoria said as she strutted over to the bar to fix Blaise his customary glass of Gin as he loosened his robes and tie.

Blaise grunted, looking down at the pile of paper on his desk, saying, "You knew that four years ago, don't sound so surprised that I'm pulling it off."

"No need to be rude, Blaise," she quipped, from the bar as she continued to mix his drink.

"No need to scold me, Victoria, we have no children," he replied as he sat his feet on the desk and proceeded to read the file that he had been passed to Lavender during his speaking engagement a few hours earlier.

Victoria glared at him, wondering what ever possessed her to feel anything at all for the man that now sat before her. It wasn't until she had seen the way he gazed at Hermione on the day he had won the election -- and he had barely seen her for five minutes -- that she knew he would never love her the way she wanted because he couldn't, he already loved someone with every fiber of his being. Yet, even with that knowledge, she never left him and even after the way he treated her, including the hurtful things he'd say, she still had no plans to leave. "Sometimes I wonder if you even want to be the Minister of Magic, Blaise. You go through hell and King Neptune's wrath to get there and now you seem so unaffected by it."

"Well, sometimes, Victoria, I wonder if getting here was worth everything I sacrificed," Blaise replied darkly, his narrowed eyes meeting hers as she handed him his drink, "it's never a matter of if I want the job or not, I want it all right."

"However, you wished you wouldn't have had to trade Filet Minigon for beans and bread, huh?" Victoria retorted quickly as she quirked an eyebrow and stood with her arms folded and her eyes set on his countenance.

"Why do you always do this, Victoria? Do you really want to hear that I love her? Do you? Could you really hate yourself that much?" he asked, his tone telling her that he was up for the challenge that she was inviting him to.

"No, I don't hate myself at all, Blaise, I just happened to fall in love with you while you were playing me for a fool," she replied, loudly, quickly turning from him so he wouldn't see the mist that clouded her eyes.

Blaise frowned as he stood up and rounded his desk to place his hands, supportively, on her arms. He may have been an arrogant prick at time but he wasn't completely heartless, sighing as he said, gently, "Blimey, Victoria, I never mean to hurt your feelings the way I do but sometimes you just irritate me I just lash out."

Victoria sniffled softly, before she replied, "I cant figure out what's worse, Blaise, having to know every single detail of your desperate love for some other woman, or having to know that you obviously didn't even come close to feeling the same way about me. It's not a good feeling, Blaise, at all and I know you never mean to hurt anybody but you always do, Blaise, you always do."

"You rarely act as if you love me, Victoria, this masquerade seems to be a fairly recent occurrence," Blaise answered, his patience growing thin at the slight tremble of her shoulders.

"I only acted in such a manner that made you happy," she replied softly, crossing her arms in such a way that her hands landed on top of his, "anytime I acted too in love you would get this blank look in your eye and I knew she had returned. You know you never mean to hurt me but I should have expected it, look how you hurt the woman you love."

"Victoria . . ." He mumbled, with a frown, as his hands slipped from her arms and he leaned on the edge of his desk with a loud sigh.

* * *

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Ginny Weasley asked, with a smile, as Draco's strong arms gathered her into an embrace that had Ginny's head spinning.

"Taking leave to see you," he replied, roguishly, watching as her hair swayed gently behind her and fell softly on her shoulder.

Ginny smirked at her boyfriend, wondering how they got to this place, it had been a little more than two months since she had seen his face and his absence made her heart grow fonder. They wrote each other more than regularly and she fond herself becoming more enthralled with the enigma of man who had more of a heart than she could have ever believed. He was the main reason she was so worried about Blaise, she knew he had feelings for Hermione and she knew her friend felt the same but Draco had made her realize that things between them weren't progressing and he wanted so badly to play matchmaker but she wouldn't let him. If Hermione were to find out that she encouraged him and things crashed and burned she would never have a moment of peace.

"How long does this _leave _last?" she asked, as he leaned in to kiss her cheeks softly.

"Only a few hours," he replied, before kissing her nose and each of her eyelids, "and when I discovered this I decided what better way to spend it than to come see you."

"I always knew you were a smart one," she smirked as his journey finally arrived at her lips and his tongue pried open her lips to massage her tongue before he finally ended with a quick bite to her bottom lip.

"I always knew you had a little talent, Miss Weasley," Draco joked, as she pulled from his embrace and walked over to the couch and took a seat, prompting him to follow and pull her into his arms as they sat on her comfortable sofa.

"Of course I have some, you keep coming back don't you?" she replied, wittily as she chuckled to herself. "So how are our dearest friends?"

"Hermione, I couldn't tell you, I'm sure you know more than I do but Blaise is trying to show that he has changed but all he has been successful in doing is confusing Hermione and abusing Victoria," Draco answered, with a sigh, as Ginny snuggled further into his arms.

"If he knows Hermione like I know he does, he realizes that showing his change in mind frame isn't going to do much for that stubborn witch, which is why he is so frustrated. But why is he taking his frustration out on Victoria?" she remarked with a frown, looking up at the glaring photo of her mother that looked like she was moments from screaming obscenities at the blond youngman.

"Victoria," he began, with a judgmental grunt, "has decided that she truly loves Blaise and hopes that their pending nuptials will happen even though his heart is clearly with his ex. I most definitely do not see the logic in that."

"Women," Ginny said, irritably, as Draco tightened his grip on her, "why would she do that to herself? Has he told her he doesn't love her?"

"If he treated her any worse he would have to hit her, Ginny, she just keeps on putting up with it," he answered with a shake of his head, "but lets end this discussion I want to enjoy my time with you."

"Grand idea, Malfoy." She grinned as he leaned down and kissed her fiery red hair.

Draco sighed contentedly, as she began to play with their intertwined fingers. "I wish I could stay a little longer."

"I wish you could stay forever," she whispered, with a sigh.

* * *

"Liebe," Ian whispered, as he gently nudged Hermione's naked form as they lay wrapped up in pure white sheets, "Liebe."

"Huh?" she mumbled, as she kept her back to him so he wouldn't see the pained look in her eyes. She couldn't remember how they had even got to the bed let alone made love, all she could remember was their argument and somewhere in the middle of it all he kissed her and she didn't have the strength to stop him. She trembled in disgust, just the images of the romp she had just had was making her stomach hurt, how did she just let him run away with her like that?

"I just wanted to tell you how much I love you," he whispered in her ear as he moved closer to her and wrapped his strong, tanned arms about her petite frame. "I really do believe that we have plenty to celebrate."

"Yea," Hermione replied, almost inaudibly, "I love you, too, Ian."

"It's just," Ian began, his lips gently gliding against her ear, sending chills down her spine, "that you made a lot of sense, I mean, what you said to Cecania. I didn't have the right to be suspicious when I never made one attempt to come visit you while you were out here with that snake and for that I apologize."

"Don't apologize, Ian," she whispered, as she reached out to lay her hands on his arms and felt the urge to cry. How could he be apologizing when he was right? She fought back tears as she thought of the man whom she had whimpered for while they made love, how could she love one man and long for another?

"Don't be so fogiving, Liebe," he remarked with a smile, as he tightened his arms around her, "I love you and I'm all for making this work even though you have this past that is bigger than anything I can ever imagine. I love you through anything we may have to work through, I want you to know that."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut as his words connected with her ears. She turned to lay on her back as he lay on his side looking down at her face being framed by her thick hair. She spoke slowly, her voice not jumping at her command, a lonely tear making its way down her cheek, "I love you more than you know, Ian, and I'm sorry I made you feel insecure about what we have."

Ian kissed the tear off her cheek before pulling her into his arms, whispering, "Don't cry, Liebe, I don't deserve that. You never made me feel any less than the greatest bloke in the world and those insecurities came from my lack of understanding of your history but that's all on me."

Hermione bit her lip to push back another wave of tears, she felt nothing short of traitorous, her heart was pulling her two ways and the last thing she wanted to was hurt this wonderful man that had never did anything but adore her. What could she say to him that wouldn't betray her traitorous heart? Nothing more than a sentiment that would keep him contended while he slept and she lay awake searching for a solution that may never come. "You are worth so much more, Ian, _so much more_."


	10. In Which Love Is Just A Word

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter:** 9

**Author name:** Khaila

**Summary:** Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you.

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes: I** don't know how many chapters are left after this one, probably no more than two. I'm sad and excited all at once! I love the last two scenes, especially Victoria showing herself as a person, it was nice to write.

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 9**

**(Three Weeks Later: Peru)

* * *

**

"I'm just staying consistent with the last administration's policy," growled the robust Bolivian diplomat, Pedro Hernandez, who seemed more and more intent on strangling the Colombian Minister of Magic who sat stoically before him.

"You will not continue to murder my people! I won't allow you to mercilessly murder my people! You will pay for all you've done!" yelled the Chilean President, Juan Alcazar, as he stood and pounded his hand on the table emotionally. Since the British Ministry's arrival almost four weeks before the Brazilian President had begun ordering renegade killing of citizens of Chile who lived near the landlocked border of the country.

"Your anger will not force change, Mr. Alcazar," Hermione interjected softly, placing her hand gently on his arm, as she chanced a glance at the other South American men in the room and saw each sending glares at men who stood on the other side.

The Brazilian president, Carlo Santiago, smirked arrogantly at the pair, growling, his accent not hindering the venom at all, "Woman I have not idea why you want to put ignorant head into man's business, learn your place and let the man speak his mind. He knows, just like the rest of these good men, that no one can prove I murdered anyone."

Hermione stood quickly and found her mouth about to insult the slimy looking Brazilian when a deeper, more threatening, voice interrupted her tirade. "You, Carlo Santiago, may be able to get away with a lot of things but while I'm standing in the same room with you addressing Miss Granger in that manner will not be one of them! Now I suggest you apologize and find your manners before I show you why the Zabini's where once feared by all who knew our legacy, your murder I will be able to get away with!"

Hermione's eyes widen as she turned to look at him, shocked she whimpered, "Blaise!"

Carlo Santiago glared into the angry Italian's eyes, meeting fire with fire and when he was finally convinced that he wasn't just spouting empty threats he turned to Hermione and just looked at her. He sat there for a moment looking her over, his eyes still narrowed but his tone less intimidating, he spoke, "Miss Granger, I apologize for my harsh words, I did not mean to insult you or your shining Knight in anyway."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, and rose her nose as she replied, tightly, "Apology accepted, Santiago."

"Now," Blaise began, sending one more threatening glance at the brutal man in front of him, "if you are done insulting women, Santiago, we can go on and do what we came here to do. Fletchly, please, take the floor."

A tall, gray-haired, wizard stood and opened a manilla folder looking around at the rooms occupants before he opened his mouth and began to speak in a tone so deep that it seemed odd to be coming from his mouth. "The International Confederation of Wizards, including every branch found around the globe, have been assisting me in assessing much of the Genocide that have been reported around the region. After careful deliberation and plenty of cooperation from countries who have not yet joined your band of _criminals_, Santiago, we have found plenty of evidence that you were the criminal mastermind behind the start of these atrocities. Evidence has been found and confessions signed proving that you bribed, threatened, and eliminated many wizards to start what you fondly called "Spring Cleaning." The entire purpose of this meeting is -- "

He quickly stopped his sentence as four well dressed Aurors entered the room and quickly gathered Santiago up, securing him with their wands before Fletchly continued with his speaking. "As I was saying, ladies and gentlemen, the entire purpose of this meeting is to publicly serve you with a warrant that will have you standing before the Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards in trial."

Carlo Santiago stood fuming silently, sending Blaise a glare that sent chills through the hearts of those who weren't sitting anywhere near the young Minister. But Blaise stood quickly sending Santiago a quick smirk before turning to address the other three officials who had publicly taken Santiago's side. "Now, don't worry all three of you will be formally accused and given your own fair spot in the trial. Due process will be given to all three of you as you are formally accused and read your rights, now if you would excuse me, I have a press conference to get to."

Blaise nodded at the Aurors, buttoned his suit and robes, and made his way out of the room, but not before turning to Carlo Santiago and saying, "I hate to point this out but justice is a bitch."

* * *

"Sir, the peacemaking process has really just begun. When my country, Italy, America and several others leave this beautiful continent it will only have just begun. But myself and every Minister of the countries who form the ICW are fully committed to returning these battle torn countries to their former splendor," Blaise remarked, as delegates from several countries nodded in agreement as they stood lined up on either side of him.

"Minister," called the editor of the _Daily Prophet_, to catch his attention, "have formal charges been brought against Pedro Hernandez, Miguel Peron, and Ferdinand Leon?"

Blaise nodded, as his left hand began clutching the side of the podium and his eyes caught a glimpse of Hermione standing in the back observing the conference. "As I arrived I received an Owl saying that more than 15 formal charges have been brought against the three men making them more than just a crutch for Santiago's case, it makes them defendants along with him."

"Sir," called sandy-haired reported from Venezuela's top newspaper, "our Minister of Magic, Diego Santos, has been very appreciative of your presence and helping hand in this horrific situation but he has made it no secret he is more than ready to see you leave and to have his country -- and region -- to return to its normal state. Is there a time frame for your stay in this region?"

"There has been no time frame made for our stay here but we will be exiting as soon as it is safe and possible for us to do so," Blaise replied, quickly and honestly. The reporter was quite right about her Minister, Santos was a cooperative opponent of Santiago, and his ideals, but he was still a very vocal advocate of the ICW's quick removal from his country, which Blaise respected.

Blaise glanced around the crowd of eager reporters who were all calling for his attention at once as he saw an old Hogwarts classmate, Tracey Davis, and quickly allowed her question to be heard. "Yes, Miss Davis."

"A personal question, if you don't mind," Tracey began, as she sent Blaise a fond smile, they shared a huge bond because they were two of the few Slytherins who survived the Great War, "has the political situation here affected your engagement to Miss Victoria Carrington?"

"Miss Davis, I understand your _Witch Weekly_ readers want to know the scoop on my relationship but for the sake of both my, as well as Miss Carrington's, privacy I will not address that. But the situation here has left me looking at my own personal life at little differently," Blaise remarked, respectively, although most in his camp knew that there was not much love left between the two, if there ever was any.

"Zir," began a Bulgarian reporter, with a thick accent, "is zee Miz Carrington still a staple in your political career?"

"She is," Blaise replied, gently, the lie not shocking anyone who knew the truth, lies are what politicians were trained at communicating, "she has been there from day one and I owe her, a lot."

"Do you think she'll make an excellent wife to the Minister of Magic of Britain?" yelled Tracey Davis before anyone else could send out a clear question.

Blaise cut his eyes at her, not much but enough for her to notice and gave a slight chuckle before replying, he knew she was trying to pry, "I think she'd make an excellent wife to _any_ man. Next question!"

"How much do you think this Genocide will affect our countries overall?" asked a loud, boisterous, Colombian man from the very back of the crowd.

"I think," Blaise began, pausing for moment as if in deep thought, "that this Genocide will affect your country economic -- and possibly socially -- for years to come. This incident opened a Pandora's Box of issues that have been swept under the rug for years and now, _because _of this incident, it is up to each and every citizen of every country in this region to make it his or her goal to over come these deep-seated prejudices. This will only affect your livelihood as much as you will let it."

"Minister Zabini," called a very pretty Greek reporter, "do you think that imprisoning these men will take away their power come forty or fifty years if their sentence isn't severe enough?"

"I believe, with the charges lining up beside them, that all of their sentences will be severe enough to have them in Azkaban, or any maximum security military prison,for life . . . or even executed. You see, power is when you have every justification to kill, and they don't, so they have no power and the Supreme Mugwump will see to it that justice is served. Next question please," he replied solemnly, his countenance giving Hermione a vision of him in his father's skin thirty years from now, his eyes would still hold all of his power.

Hermione watched from the very seat she occupied when she had attended the last media conference in Brazil. Yet this time she watched with the knowledge that the very man she compared to him every moment they spent together was waiting for her return to her room. As she watched him charm the crowd with every chuckle and solemn look he sent a reporter she found herself longing to touch him, be near him, to just experience him again. And while she sat Ginny's words bombarded her, he used to make her happy, when did that end? Did March 14, 2005, really change the way she felt about Blaise? Did one moment three years before really justify her feelings about him today? But watching him as he did what made him happy made her remember the days that she had once refused to even reminisce upon a few months ago, the days when nothing was as confusing as the emotions that she was experiencing today.

"Do you think that your predecessor is accountable for ignoring the chaos that was erupting in this part of the world?" called a reporter from London's _Diagon Daily_.

"Honestly," Blaise began, noticing for the first time to the brown eyes intent on him, "I believe if he had taken more of a decisive stance on aiding in the original transition of power Santiago could have been stopped before he turned 45 of the population of this region into refugees. It is up to the Supreme Mugwump and his judgment of the evidence, and facts, if one could indict my predecessor."

"After looking through history books -- Muggle and Wizard -- one could say that Genocide is not an uncommon crime but many Governments and private citizens have applauded you in your attempts to quickly end this murderous rampage. But is it true that Mugwump Balfour made you the poster boy of this crusade because you were the only head of Government to take any interest in the Brazilian election? And if so why didn't you realize that everyone else in the world was avoiding this man for a reason?" asked a Canadian reporter who stood taller than have the mob of reporters before him, his eyes gleaming, proud of the potentially damaging question he'd just posed.

"Mugwump Balfour made me the head of this operation because I did take interest in the Brazilian election but if I hadn't Santiago would have been successful in killing off anyone he wanted to. So whether my initial interest is right or wrong is beside the point at this moment," Blaise replied quickly and without fear, setting his jaw in a way that told the crowd that he wasn't hesitant to answer any question, damaging or not.

"Last question please," called out the Press Secretary for the International Confederation of Wizards, which caused the crowd to scramble to be the lucky one to hand the question of this Historic Media conference.

"Can you give a few acts under which Santiago, Leon, Peron, and Hernandez will be prosecuted?" asked a petite Asian woman who stood near the center of the crowd, her loud voice and American accent taking precedent over every other reporter speaking.

Blaise smirked, as he nodded, it was always the American's who wanted to the most detail, they could never just be content with victory. "Genocide itself, conspiracy to commit genocide, direct and public incitement to commit genocide, attempt to commit genocide, complicity in genocide and anything else that has been proven to be systematic destruction of these people's way of life. Those are just a few that I can think off of the top of my head, my Minister of Justice, Adrian Pucey, has assured me that there are dozens more."

* * *

"I see the infamous Ian Knight has arrived to whisk you away from this horrid place," Blaise remarked softly, as he made his presence known to the brunette who stood in the beautiful Peruvian sands looking out into the sea.

"He's been here since the ninth," Hermione replied, bending over to take off her shoes and sit on the warm sand.

Blaise followed suit, except he kept his shoes on as he sat beside her, saying, "You don't sound very excited about it."

"Our two year anniversary is a month away and he thinks we have something to celebrate, I beg to differ," she remarked softly, as she folded her arms on her knees and laid her chin on her arm.

"Well," he sighed, looking away from her, "making it for twenty-four months is something to celebrate, at least you and he have something to celebrate. I think I'll be celebrating this victory by breaking my engagement."

"Honestly?" Hermione questioned, as she turned her gaze to the handsome Italian who had failed to leave her thoughts for even a second in the past few weeks.

"Honestly," Blaise nodded, he bit his lip for a moment before he continued, "marriage is sacred to me and I don't know what made me think I could marry a woman that I've never loved."

"Sometimes things don't work out, they take their place in your heart and make you a little stronger the next time," she replied softly, her voice barely loud enough for him to distinguish over the loud sway of the waves, "we should know, huh."

"Things should've worked out," he said quickly, catching her eyes for the first time since he had followed her outside, "because obviously we just closed the door without ever moving our stuff out."

"Blaise," Hermione sighed, as she reached over to run some sand through her fingers nervously, "there are some things that are nothing more than what they are, they're not meant to last and maybe we were meant to leave our stuff there . . ._forgotten_."

"Who are you talking about? You and me or Victoria and me?" Blaise asked, raising his eyebrow.

"Blaise don't make this difficult," she groaned, looking away from his inquiring glance.

"I couldn't make what we feel difficult if I tried," he replied, inhaling and exhaling slowly before he chose to speak again, "you know there is something I should've said long ago."

"What?" Hermione asked, slowly, almost scared to hear what Blaise could be beginning.

"I'm sorry, simply, honestly, apologetic for what happened. I really am sorry, Hermione," Blaise said, looking over at her just in time to see her shoulders slump in emotion.

Hermione sniffed silently, taking a moment to find her voice before speaking, "What was it? Were you bored?"

"No," he whispered, shaking head as he began to avoid her sorrowful eyes, "I just became consumed with the quest for power and Victoria aided power in seducing me, I was never bored with you and she knew it."

"Somehow I've known that all these years," she remarked, an ironic smirk playing upon her lips.

Blaise reached out to take her hand, before saying, "Hermione, my heart is and will always be yours. Everything I do, and have done, I did it for you. Anything that might be special in me, is you, Hermione, always have been and always will be."

"How can you say that? It wasn't about me three years ago," she snapped, as she yanked her hand from his grasp.

"No," he admitted, "but everything since that day has been. I knew if I could succeed you'd know my worth and realize that what I did was just to get me what you and I both wanted so badly."

"So breaking my heart was the only way to succeed? Blaise, I think not," Hermione replied, struggling to keep her voice calm and collected.

"I'm not saying that but I am saying that I wanted to succeed so bad because of you. And there is not a moment in my life that I regret more than that one," Blaise replied, honestly, sighing as the salty air began to blow against his skin.

Suddenly Hermione rose and began to make her way back toward the hotel, saying, her voice full of tears, "I'm glad you've come clean, I hope you feel better."

Blaise jumped up, a frown covering his face, calling, "It's not like that! Hermione, don't walk away from me, please!"

"Blaise, you taught me how," she replied, as she stopped in her tracks to turn and glare at him.

"I know," he whispered, as he slowly began to approach her, "and I just want to find a way to tell you that when I gave my heart to you ten years ago I never got it back."

"What do you want from me?" Hermione asked, as a solemn tear began to make its way down her face.

"I don't want anything_ from_ you," Blaise answered huskily, as he reached out to place his hands on her arms, "I just want _you_."

"Blaise, people fall in love all the time and they fall right back out, we just need to move on with our lives," she whispered, as the feel of his hands on her skin gave her chills.

"Tell me you don't love me," he demanded, as he pulled her closer and looked down into her eyes that were begging for him to just leave it alone. "_Tell_ me you don't."

"Love is about what you do, not the words you say," Hermione argued, struggling to keep her composure when she was so close to the one man that she had loved for so long.

"Not with us, Hermione, and you know it. We are human and sometimes we don't do the right thing and words are the only way we can make up for it," he replied, determined to make her understand that it wasn't it over.

She pushed away from him, looking into his eyes once more before saying, "I don't want to ever forget what we shared and I am not bitter because of what happened, I promise. I know what we felt was real and I'm so thankful that what we had lasted for as long as it did but now we _must_ move on. Blaise, I'll love you until the day I leave this earth but its time to just go on, work together and every now and then stop to remember our past because there is no way we can revive it."

"You can't revive something that never died," Blaise replied as he took three large steps toward her and pulled her into his arms and touched his lips to hers for the first time in three years. As he touched her lips for the first time in years he felt such urgency that he couldn't stop himself, his hands found a place on her shapely hips as she slowly responded to his touch. Sparks flew between them as Hermione hesitantly traced his bottom lip with her tongue, she could feel the electricity and she knew right then that the passion never died.

* * *

"He's really in love with you," came a soft, feminine, voice behind Hermione as she made her way up to her room.

Hermione turned quickly to be confronted with the clear blue eyes of the woman whom she had once fantasized about murdering, the woman who ruined everything that she had ever wanted in one selfish moment. Her eyes narrowed as she snarled, "I didn't think Vultures knew what love was."

Victoria sighed, blinking her eyes rapidly as she nodded her head, understanding Hermione's anger, replying, "I deserve that, I know I do but I speak the truth, Blaise really does love you."

"How long did it take you to realize that?" Hermione asked, stone faced as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I had doubts when I slept with him for the first time," she answered, looking over at the Greek hand-woven carpet as she spoke, "but I realized it when I figured out that he had you on a pedestal and I was just in his arms."

Hermione sighed loudly, rolling her eyes, deciding that holding a grudge wasn't going to hurt Victoria anymore than loving a man that never loved her. "I'm sorry, I don't feel sorry for you but I am sorry. I'm sorry that you thought that sex could make a man love you, it's a lesson many find hard to learn, and I'm sorry you had to learn it this way."

"I'll always love him," Victoria whispered, brushing a strand of her silky blond hair behind her ear, "he knows that."

"Love someone else, Victoria, it'll end a lot nicer," Hermione countered, as she turned to began her long walk up the stairs.

"Hermione," Victoria called, moving a little closer to the brunette, "I just wanted to apologize for any pain I've caused you."

"When did you grow a heart, Victoria? When you realized that you'd lost a battle that you had been fighting alone for the better part of three years?" Hermione asked, her voice full of venom and her eyes full of fire. She genuinelydisliked this woman, from the very moment she witnessed her atop her fiancÉ in her own bed Hermione had hated her with such passion that it was almost tangible.

"I understand that you may never like me I just wanted to apologize," Victoria continued, quickly looking away from the one woman she had felt herself in competition with for years.

"You know," Hermione began, her eyebrows furrowed and the venom gone from her tone, "I don't know how you live with yourself because if someone doesn't believe in me I can't believe in them. Victoria, value yourself more than any title and I promise you'll find more love than you could ever imagine having at one time."

Victoria nodded, understanding completely, her blue eyes lined with unshed tears. She looked up at the older woman with a bit of wonder in her eyes, she had been so intent on getting that title that she had forgotten what was important in marriage, love. "When you sleep with someone, your body makes a connection, whether you do or not. And so I thought that maybe that connection could evolve into something else, something more, something deeper . . . but it never did. I just wanted so badly for him to love me that I forgot I was important too."

"I love him, Victoria, I do but I also love someone else. Now I have to figure out which love is the right love and I'm afraid it might take forever. Victoria, move on and find a man who loves you and only you. Every woman deserves that," Hermione replied solemnly, sending her a sad smile and making her way up the winding stairs.

"Hermione," Victoria called, her Texan accent soft and elegant as she barely raised her voice, just as Hermione began to reach the curve of the steps.

"Yea?" Hermione answered, as she halted and looked back at the blond woman who was dressed in the very color of her eyes and had no idea how beautiful she looked.

"You can say I love you all day long and it will never been the same as actually being in love with someone, love is _just _a word," Victoria advised wisely as Hermione nodded and once again began her ascent up the stairs.


	11. In Which Deceptions and Discussions

**Title: **Truth Is

**Chapter: **10

**Author name: **Brittney

**Category:** Romance

**Sub Category:** Drama

**Keywords:** Blaise Hermione OC Politics

**Rating:** PG-13

**Spoilers:** SS/PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, OotP

**Summary:** Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you. **Not HBP Compatable**

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** Not HBP Compatable! Blaise is still Italian, it was too late in the game to change it. I couldn't end it quickly so the story continues, I really don't know how many chapters are left but we have an ENTIRE summer to figure out!

* * *

**"Truth Is"**

**Chapter 10**

**(Four Days Later: Chile)**

Ian sighed, feeling the muscle in his jawjump, this was not what he wanted to hear. After spending ten days in South America, attempting to salvage what was left of his relationship, this was not anything that he wanted to hear. He wanted to see her step into the room, remove her jacket and robes, and announce that it was time to go home. Home to him, home to their life, home to their relationship, but most of all home to their love. He was not expecting this news and knew not how to react. "So you are going to Spain?"

"It's my job, Ian," Hermione replied as she ran fingers through her thick mane, hoping her irritation wasn't a sign of the stress to come, "you expect me to quit now after all I've sacrificed for this?"

"I know it's your job but can't you do it in England?" he asked, his voice low, as he tried to hide his frustration.

She sighed, as she turned to him, her eyes reading the disappointment that radiated off of him. "My job is where ever Blaise says it is, so right now I have to plan for a trip to Spain. Those men may have been caught, Ian, but that is only the beginning, peacemaking has just begun."

"_Blaise_?" Ian laughed, his chuckle deeply sarcastic as he shook his head and bit his lip. "Blaise? He'd ask you to fly around the world with him as long as it would keep you away from me! Hermione, don't you see that bloody man is still in love with you!"

"That doesn't matter, Ian," she replied, softly, not wanting to acknowledge what she knew to be true, "I still have to do my job."

Ian's countenance harbored a well of emotions as he struggled not to lose his composure. "How could it not matter? He is the only thing that has ever come between us, so why doesn't it matter?"

Hermione cocked an eyebrow at his sudden air of offense, placing a well manicured hand on her hip, she asked, "So he's coming between us?"

"I'm not saying he is -- and I'm not saying he has -- I'm saying," he relented, running his hands over his face with a sigh, "that we need to fight so he won't be able to do a damn thing to us."

"Either way I choose I cannot win," she whimpered, as she turned away from him to gaze out her window. "If I say I'll go home with you I could possibly lose the position that I've worked for my whole life or even be seen as inadequate in doing my job. Yet if I go to Spain, I lose us, you'll be convinced that _Blaise_ has won whatever war you two are fighting. Ian, I don't think you're being fair, at all."

"I love you, Liebe," Ian spoke softly, as he came up behind her and gently gripped her arms, "can't you see that? I just don't want to lose you."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip before she turned to him and said, "I love you, like you couldn't imagine, Walter Ian Knight IV. So, why don't you take a few more weeks off from St. Mungo's and come to Spain with me?"

* * *

"Is Spain going to be my last appearance, Mr. Zabini?" Victoria asked, her southern accent very apparent, as she walked out onto the Penthouse balcony that had a perfect view of the Pacific Ocean ahead of it and the Andes Mountains behind it.

"Good morning, Victoria," Blaise replied, his voice monotone, as he reached out his leg to kick the chair across from him away from the table, "have a seat."

She rose her eyebrow at his action but sat down anyway. "Good morning, I just heard about the Supreme Mugwump holding proceedings in Spain."

"I'm sure," he replied, as he took another sip from the liquor in his glass, "I slept in while the ICW took the spotlight today. I wasn't surprised when I received the Owl about it. I'm just surprised that you'd know what was next."

"I'm not an ignorant child, Blaise," she snapped, while trying to direct her billowing blond hair away from the steady wind.

Blaise chuckled, holding his glass up as he stared longingly out into the sea. "I never implied that you were."

Victoria stiffened in the blatant abandon in his tone and wondered how much liquor had he nursed that morning. "I'd appreciate it if you would answer my question."

"What?" he asked, his eyebrows crinkling in mock confusion. "Did you ask if you were an ignorant child?"

"Blaise!" she snapped, fumes practically steaming from her ears. She had, had another sleepless night and he was testing what patience she had left.

Blaise chuckled, as he turned back toward his view, replying, "Your time in my employment is coming to a swift close, Spain will be our grand finale."

"_Employment_?" she gasped. " You make me sound as some whore who has diligently _served _you for an allotted time, determined by you of course! To that implication I take great offense, I will not stand here and allow you to insult me in that way!"

"You should take great offense to the insult that you have committed against yourself, Victoria," Blaise retorted calmly, rolling his eyes at the anger that was steaming from the blond.

"I have taken great offense to all my mistakes, Blaise," Victoria growled, as she rose from her seat, while taking great pains not to reach out and strangle him, "but I refuse to pay penance for your sins."

"No one asked you to," he replied, turning his neck slightly to look upon her before she walked out back into the room.

"No one asked me too?" she said, in disbelief, her voice moments from a yell. "Do you realize how they all look at me? Hermione, Lavender, your entire cabinet, and soon to be the entire world? All they will see is the American _whore_ who manipulated you into her bed all for the sake of power!"

Blaise sat up quickly the moment she began to yell, her voice trembling with emotion that he had forgotten that she was capable of feeling. "Victoria --"

"No!" she declared, tears lining her blue eyes, the glare almost blinding with the heat of the early morning. "You will not get away with this deception! My grandmother always said: if you knock on the Devil's door long enough he will answer you. And, God help me, he answered you Mr. Zabini, he answered you! You asked for every thing that happened, you asked for all of this, for nothing corrupts a man so much as absolute power!"

He chuckled darkly, rising quickly to return her attack with equal venom. "You dare talk of deception, Victoria? Need I remind you that you, my darling, were guilty of deceiving me the moment you seduced me into your bed!"

Victoria smirked at his reply, her blond hair blowing behind her with the morning breeze, yet the breeze did nothing for her anger. This explosion was something that had just lain dormant inside her until the right fuel came to spark it to life and Blaise's words had been just the spark it needed. "Need I remind you, Blaise, that the only way that seduction can be successful is if one is willing to give into temptation. And I'm sure that I don't have to remind you that you enjoyed my seduction for five months before Hermione even had a clue! Oh and lets not get into deception there because you weren't even man enough to tell her the truth, _Blaise_, she had to find us together! So who is the master of deception, Blaise, who?"

"I did not deceive her," he growled, turning from her as he took a long gulp from his glass.

"Then what do you call this entire act? What?" she replied, her yell down to a more rigidly calm commanding tone. "What has the past three years been, Blaise? Certainly not the truth."

"You act as if in these past three years that I have felt nothing for you," Blaise replied, sitting his glass on the table as he again faced the blond. "That is a gross misinterpretation of this difficult situation!"

"I was just a plaything to pass the time with until the woman you really cared about could forgive your transgressions," Victoria answered, her voice almost in a whisper, as she averted her eyes to the brilliant skyline. "I know you don't think that I could be capable of loving anyone other than myself but I am and I have."

"Victoria --" Blaise began, as he slowly approached her yet she interrupted him before he could even began.

"Don't," she snapped, stopping him with her palm before he could get any closer, "your apologies make me queasy."

Even though she had halted him for a moment he continued to approach and was just inches from her when she reached out and grasped his hand. She placed it on her chest just as a solemn tear made its way down her cheek and onto his hand, as she whispered, "This is my heart and it's broken. Can you feel it?"

"Oh," Blaise groaned, his chest physically tightening, his own despair deepening, "Victoria, I never meant -- "

"Stop!" she moaned, loudly, interrupting him. "Your apologies mean nothing, Blaise! You say you never meant for anyone to get hurt but people will be left hurt no matter how this pans out and it's all on you. You could have prevented this whole fiasco, yet, you chose to live it. At this very moment, your apologies mean nothing to me nor to Hermione nor to Ian."

"I don't hold any power as to how they end up," he said softly, reaching up to wipe the tears off her cheeks. "I only know how we will end."

"I told you earlier nothing corrupts a man so much as absolute power and, Blaise, you hold all the power in the matter on how they will end up," Victoria replied, backing away from the consuming feeling of his skin. "In fact, you hold all of the power in this entire situation."

* * *

"Oh," sighed the white-haired beauty, as she gazed out the large windows from the dining hall, "what a gorgeous country this is!"

"You should see it at sunrise," Hermione said with a smile, as Ian guided her, with his hand on the small of her back, to the table where his parents sat.

Liesel andWalter Ian Knight III were a handsome couple -- physically financially, and socially -- who were considered little less than wizarding royalty in both England and Germany. Liesel van Gutenberg had been born into the pureblood family who were direct descendants to the last throne that had reigned in Germany. She was only fifty-years old but was quickly losing the cornflower hue in her hair; yet, the stately woman was a huge humanitarian and, never the selfish one, believed she owed it to her country to share her family's wealth and influence. Ian was her pride and joy, her oldest son, who was born on her family's estate twenty-seven years ago, she was always one to look in on his well being.

And Walter Ian Knight III was from a long line of British purebloods who had owned St. Mungo's Hospital -- and all her predecessors -- since before Hogwarts founding. Walter was an older man, quickly approaching seventy, yet appearing as lively and as charming as his twenty-three-year-old son. He had been the driving force in his heir's life and took great pride in all of Ian's successes, unlike many of his peers, he had been determined to be a good father to all of his children. His business mind was one of his most famous attributes, during his younger years he had taken control of a big chunk of the Wizard Market and won. Walter Knight, at the tender age of sixty-five, had secured a fortune for his family that many other exceedingly wealthy purebred families could barely contend with.

"I'm sure it's lovely," Liesel exclaimed, as she pulled Hermione into a hug before they were all seated at the table.

"Apparently," began Walter, with a smirk, "you've been doing a great job out here, Miss Granger."

"Why do you say that, sir?" Hermione asked, as she placed the creme-colored napkin in her lap as a waiter sat a small salad in front of her.

"Well, the traffic into the hospital from this part of the world has decreased, immensely, since this time in March," he replied, with an acknowledging nod as the waiter placed a small salad in front him, as well.

"Well," she sighed, chancing a glance at Ian before she continued, "we are trying to do the best job that we can. There would be no use in coming all this way to do the job halfway."

"Oh," cut in Liesel, her accent more faint than her daughter's, before he husband could reply, "let's not talk business at Lunch! It's just so nice to see you two lovebirds together, again. You know, everyday I look at the paper and, Hermione, all I see is you and the Minister or you and some of his cabinet members! It's nice to see you with the man you love."

Ian took a long gulp from his glass, raising his eyebrow at his drink, before he said, "She works hard, mother, those men have just become a part of her daily life."

Liesel laughed softly at her son's words as she lay a hand on top of Hermione's, saying, "Don't allow your job to remove you too far from your personal life. That is how Cecania almost missed the love of her life, Hans, with her quest in the world of law and the man that world made available to her. She thought she would marry that Thor but Hans was always it for her and she couldn't deny it, she gave up law for him."

Hermione attempted to hide her frown, if Liesel had known more of their current situation she would have kept that to herself. Because Thor was Ian in her life, her job had shoved him down her throat, but Hans was Blaise. And now Hans and Cecania were a happy couple with a six-year-old son and rumors swirling that they were trying for a second. What could she say? "My job is on a whole different priority list than my personal life, Mrs. Knight."

"Good," chimed Walter Knight, before rambling off his order for lunch to the waiter, "it's nice to know how devoted you are to our son."

"Devoted," mumbled Ian, before he gave his order, "what a great word choice."

Hermione glared at him before turning back to his parents, who had appeared to have missed his comment, asking, "How long will you two be in South America?"

"We actually just came down to Bolivia to see Alfons while he was here before we went on our annual summer trip to Sri Lanka. I just couldn't bear the thought of not seeing my only grandson until September so we decided to come visit and then we said: well, Hermione and Ian are in Chile so why don't we make a quick visit there before we leave. So here we are! Come to think of it, I think we leave this evening," Liesel replied, her voice full of cheer and optimism, in her usual manner of telling more than she was originally asked.

Alfons was Cecania and Hans' six-year-old son and he was the most beloved and pampered grandchild in all of Germany and seemingly Britian as well. Liesel only had two grandchildren, her youngest son Karl had a year-old-daughter, but with her behavior sometimes one would think that she had a hoard of them. "I do hope he is enjoying this trip, honestly I don't know why Cecania would allow to bring her son into such a tumultuous country."

"Oh, you know how she can't bear to be away from him for a long time. I do believe he's perfectly safe, his nanny and governess are both here and Hans has hired men to guard them especially," she replied as the waiter brought in her lunch and sat it in front of her.

"Son," Walter said, looking away from the women who were still carrying on their conversation, "you mother and I do leave for Sri Lanka in a few days. When do you think you'll be able to go back to England and take care of hospital business for me?"

"Father," Ian replied, looking down at his plate before looking back into the brown eyes of his family's patriarch, "I'll have to handle that business abroad for a few weeks because I've decided to accompany Hermione to Spain for the trials and the final preparations for the peacekeeping process here."

Walter frowned, quirking his head to the side before asking, in a soft voice, "Is everything going well, son?"

Ian nodded, dejectedly. "As could be expected but I'm just trying to remember that anything worth having is worth working hard for."

* * *

She sat quietly, watching the waves crash up against the rocks on the shore and wondering just how much effort would it take to be washed away. Her life had become much too complicated much too quickly, things she had believed to be forgotten had been recovered much too easily. The sounds of the water's constant motion led her to sigh as she dug her bare feet deeper into the sand. The stars twinkled mockingly above her as the quarter-moon struggled to light up night sky, their clarity seemed to mock her. It was past midnight and her lack of slumber had led her to allow nature to comfort her, the day's activities had taken a toll on her mental state.

She reached up to take the pins out of her bun, she wanted a sense of normalcy and reaching up with her wand to let down her hair wasn't going to do it, when she felt a familiar touch. She jumped to look about her just as her hair fell and was accosted with the most unexpected sight, unruly brown hair and familiar green eyes. "Harry!"

"Surprise to see you out here," he smiled, as she jumped up and bounded into his arms, hugging him so tight that it was slightly hard to breathe.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione sighed sadly, as she buried her face his neck, "oh, Harry! What are you doing here?"

"I had to come down to oversee the transportation of the prisoners and I was just getting back from a four-hour briefing with the Minister of Justice and decided to take a walk," Harry answered as he gently tried to remove her arms from around his neck.

"You have no idea how wonderful it is to see you," she whispered, letting go of his neck, her eyes lined with tears as she looked up at him.

Harry frowned, it was very rare to see Hermione so emotional so he took on the role that he'd acquired three years ago when Blaise had broken her heart, her comforter. He grabbed her hand and sat next to the spot where she had just been seated, saying, "Come on, sit down and tell me what's going on."

Hermione sat with a dejected sigh, whispering, "My life is falling apart, Harry."

"Who is it? Ian or Blaise?" he asked, knowingly, Ginny had been keeping him posted on the entire situation so he wasn't the least bit surprised that it had only continued to escalate.

"Both," she replied, biting her bottom lip nervously, "I love two men but I have but one heart."

"You may love them both but, Hermione, you can definitely love one more than the other and not realize it. You can't be fated for both but you can love both," Harry said, wisely, squeezing her hand supportively.

"That's just it, Harry," Hermione answered, turning her angst ridden brown eyes to him, "I can't figure out if I love Ian more or Blaise more."

"I really hate that I'm about to say this," he grumbled amiably, "but could it be a sense of obligation keeping you from leaving Ian?"

"I thought of that once, when he had first arrived," she sighed, pulling her knees up to her chest, "we made love and I felt so -- so dirty. I knew I loved him but my heart, my mind, my soul longed for Blaise in every way."

"Your eyes say that the longing wasn't isolated to just that moment," Harry retorted, with another brotherly look of sympathy.

"My eyes aren't lying," Hermione cried, the slight bitterness very apparent in her tone, "I forgave him long ago, Harry, you know that but even now, when I'm deeply involved with another, I can't forget him. I just can't."

"I hate to tell you this, Hermione," Harry whispered, looking out into the whimpering sea, "your heart is and will always be Zabini's."

"Harry," she cried, laying her head on her arms that were folded over her knees, "That is what I'm afraid of."


	12. In Which Old Connections Are Remembered

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter:** 11

**Summary:** Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you. Not HBP Compatable

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** Not HBP Compatable! The Zabini family order might be a little difficult so here it is from oldest to youngest: Antonia, Sienna, Niccolo, Blaise, Michele (Ponounced: Me- Qay-Lay) Marco. I apologize to all the Anti-Victoria reader's out there, I prefer my characters to actually have a soul. I couldn't help but to try to redeem her.

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 11**

**(Two Weeks Later: Cartagena, Spain)**

Blaise watched him closely, a new emotion settling at the pit of his stomach, it seemed that the eight years between he and his younger brother were almost none existent. He remembered, vividly, the shy ten-year-old in tears the year he graduated and had decided to enter the war fresh out of Hogwarts, his heart swelled with ideals and causes. It had been ten years, he sighed with discontent, where had the years gone? He watched Marco Manuel Zabini with new interest, where had this man come from?

This tall, dark, charming, young man hadn't been there when, three years into the war, their older brother, Niccolo had been tortured and killed. Blaise could vividly remember the thirteen-year-old taking a semester off from Hogwarts and not saying much to anyone. Niccolo had been the first boy of six children, with two older sisters, every Zabini son after him would worship him and follow him unto the end. And follow him they did, Blaise squeezed his eyes shut as the memory of his brother, Michele, accosted him.

The third son of the Zabini clan had been well into his tenure at Sicily's own Palermo School of Wizarding when the school closed because of the war and he had decided to enter the war, just as his older brothers did. Michele had entered the war just as it began to have a clear cut winning side but he had been caught at the wrong end of a dark curse, no Mediwizard could ever determined how he died. Those were the hardest years of his life, he lost two blood brothers, his oldest brother and one of his younger brothers, and more comrades and friends than one could imagine, and how his youngest brother had come out seemingly unscathed was nothing short of a miracle.

Marco was the youngest of the Zabini clan, now fresh out of Hogwarts and two years into his Mediwizard training in Spain, he was the only child in his family to not have seen the horrors of The Great War first hand but he had felt each loss just a strongly as everyone else. Blaise was grateful for the time in Spain, he had seen his brother very little since he had began following his political dreams. Marco looked very much like their older sisters, Antonia and Sienna, with his lean frame, statuesque build, honey brown eyes, and thick chestnut hair, it had been a look that Blaise had always envied. Blaise and his, now deceased brothers, had all taken after their father with their dark hair and eyes, a distinctly Mediterranean look now adored by women world wide, yet Blaise could remember growing up envying his brother's European features.

"I'm glad you came, Blaise," Marco said, as he joined his brother at the patio table.

"I'm glad I came too, Marc," Blaise replied, looking at his youngest brother trying to not to tune into the flashbacks, "I was just thinking about how long its been since we've all been together."

"It's been a long time, huh," Marco stated, fully aware of whom his brother spoke of, "mother finally went down to the mausoleum to visit them. I thought she would never forgive them . . . or you."

Blaise chuckled at the thought of his mother, she had been so angry at her sons for going to war that she refused to speak to any of them while they were gone. And Cara Zabini had grown angrier when Niccolo and Michele died, she cried for weeks and only asked why her sons wouldn't come home to her. Then her grief had been escalated tenfold when Blaise and Hermione broke-up, it seemed her second son was dead-set on ruining her family. "She never could stay angry at us. How is she?"

"Sick," Marco answered simply, twisting the simple gold band on his middle finger, "she's recovering from a nasty bug and she misses you terribly. Father allowed her to come visit Amara and I last month and all she could talk about when she could see her whole family together again."

"She will," Blaise replied, feeling the tug at his heart. Who was he to break his mother's heart. "I promise she will have all of us under the same roof again, one day soon."

"How's Hermione? Father told us that she was working with you," Marco asked. He and Hermione had, had a connection since the first time Blaise had brought a freshly seventeen-year-old Hermione to his family's Tuscany home for holiday.

"She's . . . good," he answered, not exactly sure what to say about the woman he had loved for so long it seemed impossible to conjure any time of his life without her.

"I wish I could see her," Marco said, with a grin, "she wouldn't recognize me. I know Amara would love her, they probably could talk medicine and history for hours."

Amara Xanthopoulos was Marco's girlfriend of two years, they had met his first year in Mediwizard training and had been inseparable since. Blaise nodded, seeing many similarities in the Grecian Island native and his Hermione, the one he had so callously thrown away years before. "Marco?"

"Yea?" his brother answered, after he had conjured up two glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Don't ever let anything get in the way of what you feel toward Amara," Blaise warned his younger brother, the look in his eye saying all that needed to be said, "nothing."

"Like you did with Hermione," Marco retorted, his light brown eyes full of sympathy for his only living brother.

Blaise nodded, before taking a drink from his glass, his eyes tuning into the early morning sky. "Niccolo would kill me if he knew how horribly I've handle this. He would've hated Victoria and still kept post with Hermione, I know he would have, he always knew what was best for me. Sometimes I wonder . . . "

Marco bit his lip, the loss of his most beloved brother still fresh although it was little more than a decade ago. "What?"

"Sometimes I wonder," he began, a small sigh interrupting the flow of his words, "if Niccolo had made it would any of this have happened."

"What could Nic have changed if you were already hell-bent on . . ." Marco began but stopped suddenly as he began to think his words over in his head, deeming them unfit to be spoken just yet.

"Go on," Blaise urged his brother, quietly, "go on say it: if I were already hell-bent on ruining my life. Nic could have changed everything, he could have made me see reason. He always saw disasters coming when it came to us and I'm sure he would've have seen this one coming."

Marco nodded, speaking softly, almost to himself, "We'll never know, will we. So how are _you_ going to fix this?"

* * *

Supreme Mugwump Chandler Balfour sat behind his desk, his reading spectacles sitting dangerously on the tip of his pointed nose as he skimmed over the report that was given to him. Hermione bit her lip as she noted the thickness of his white hair and the thin line that consisted of his lips, she noted, quickly, to tread lightly because he didn't appear happy. Just as she noted her boss' disposition he laid the paper down with a soft thump and an irritated growl.

"Miss Granger," he began, his tone even and calm yet full of fire, "you are the _finest_ Negotiations Specialist that the Confederation has ever had. So might I inquire why so many things in that report were handled so horribly?"

"I have no excuses, sir," she replied, contritely, "although I will say things were handled brazenly because that was the option we had left."

Mugwump Balfour frowned, linking his fingers together, before he spoke, "My dear, I do believe you mean that. How I raged when I caught wind of the ties the new Minister was attempting to forge with Brazil, subsequently Carlo Santiago. I just never imagined that Santiago would become an enemy of the state, let alone the world. How will I look into my ambassador's faces once we go to trial? Genocide, who would have ever thought that Santiago would go for genocide?"

"That's how Zabini felt when all this came to light," Hermione remarked, watching the emotions float across her boss' face, "he had no idea the operation that Santiago had been covering while he was making nice with the man. Sir, after all that we went through with the war I thought the moment Zabini saw Santiago he would kill him but he handled it better than anyone I knew would."

"My dear," he began, looking across his desk at the attractive young woman, with her hair sweeping across her shoulders and her face glowing with constant exposure to the sun, he heart swelling as her similarity to a woman he had known years before grew, "he handled it better than I could have. After a lifetime filled with Grindelwald and Voldemort, Carlo Santiago is a villain I can live without. Ten years of peace to be interrupted by a bitter thief, it is quite an unbearable thought for me, Miss Granger."

"Sir," Hermione began, quickly weighing her words before speaking to the man who had quickly followed Dumbledore as her mentor, whom she fondly adored, "you will handle him as need be very soon."

"How I wish I could destroy him, child," Balfour replied, his voice even and deadly, the edge sending chills down Hermione's spine.

"His time is coming soon," she tried to be reassuring, "soon he will no longer be a threat."

"Did he really think he could live up to the standards set by Grindelwald? Or even Voldemort? Those men reigned by crude mental manipulation not just brute force and brash emotion, Carlo Santiago never stood a chance," he said, as he stood and walked over the window that took up an entire wall of his office.

Hermione had no reply to his statement, she, as well as her entire generation, knew that there would never be a mortal man to ever live up to terror created by Lord Voldemort. Balfour turned to her, his professionalism now regained, "How many men are being prosecuted with him?"

"Three," Hermione answered swiftly, "they have all been found to be staunch supporters of Santiago's supposed _cause_."

"Do any of them have counsel or any of the unnecessary riffraff?" He asked, while taking his seat at his desk.

"At this moment," she began searching her memory, opening up the report that lay in her lap, "they have none that I know of."

"Well," Mugwump Balfour replied, his lips in a tight thin line and eyes narrowed, "Miss Granger, this is where your job comes in. I need you to find out when they get counsel and began negotiating with them, if you have to offer some small time deal that we know they won't take, and find out what trumped up defense the ICW will have to deal with come trial time."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Victoria frowned as she felt a broad shoulder brush against her, interrupting her train of thought. She placed her glass down and glared at the man, she had chosen the end of the bar for a reason, she wanted complete and utter privacy while she pondered the mess her life was in. She tried to think of a polite way to ask him to move, watching him silently as the bartender made him a drink, yet she remained quiet, he looked familiar. She had never been near the man before but could spot the evident pedigree and mesmerizing brown eyes anywhere after all the magazine covers he had graced. Victoria watched him as he took a long gaze into his glass before he drank the entire thing and then asked for another.

She turned to him, sticking her hand out for him to take as she spoke, her gentle Texas accent forcing him to take notice, "I do believe we've never formally met, I'm Victoria Carrington."

He raised an eyebrow, a slight grin working at the corner of his mouth, he knew exactly who she was. He took her hand as his eyes did a quick once over of her feminine frame and picturesque features, she was undeniably an aesthetic beauty. "It's a pleasure, Ian Knight."

"I thought that's who you were," she remarked as she reclaimed her hand and picked up her glass.

Ian smiled, chancing another glance at her as he swirled the brown liquid around in his cup. "I knew who you were the moment I entered the room. So I took a chance and grabbed this seat before some other lucky bloke did."

"So you really are a charmer," Victoria replied, with a smile.

Ian chuckled, retorting with a serious tone, "You really aren't as vapid as the paper's say you are."

Victoria was far from insulted, instead she gave a sincere chuckle and said, "Which is exactly why most of your European publications are always on the chopping board for slander."

"Beautiful and smart," Ian replied, before taking a short sip from him glass. It had been a long morning and an even longer few weeks. It had seemed the more stress his relationship came under the more he fought to maintain it but the faster it seemed to slip between his fingers. That morning Hermione had departed from the their room angry, they had another fight to cap off the massive argument they had the night before. To think this was all for love.

"So is your Hermione," she retorted, her blue eyes lowering in some unspoken emotion that Ian couldn't completely read.

He knew there was a lot of emotion in his struggling relationship with Hermione but the pain sitting behind the gleam in her blue eyes was a whole new territory. "That she is. You know, I would like to know what makes your eyes dim like that."

"What?" Victoria asked, not realizing that she was showing Ian the side few people in the world even realized she had. She looked up at the man seeing exactly what it was that made it so hard for Hermione to leave him, his kindness, his hearts capacity for compassion, it was etched all over his face.

"When you spoke Hermione's name your eyes became so sad," he answered, not realizing he was enchanting the young woman, "I was just wondering why."

"Well," she began quietly, her eyes not leaving her cup but for a moment to glance at the man, "I'm sure its no secret but my fian -- Blaise, Blaise, has never seen in me all the things he saw in her. And only now did I realize that I honestly wanted him to . . . love me."

"So the breakup is eminent?" Ian asked, carefully.

Victoria chuckled sarcastically, her hurt masking itself in anger. "It should have taken place a long time ago but he wants nothing but good press right now and, as usual, I complied."

"You deserve more, Victoria," he said, not really knowing what more to say, "every woman does."

Victoria sighed, her eyes finally comfort in the friendliness of Ian's stare. "To think, I was only a child when I started this dangerous game but I've grown so much because of it. I don't think I'll ever see anything the same way again."

"Is that really so bad?" Ian asked, raising his eyebrows, not totally understanding what kept him in conversation with woman who had caused Hermione so much pain. Yet he couldn't fight the nagging thought that Victoria had no power to cause Hermione any pain, only Blaise could do that.

She shrugged, it was the most untrained thing he had ever seen her do in public, when she finally spoke, her voice was soft, almost broken, "People are always saying that change is a good thing. But all they are really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all, has happened."

"You honestly loved him, eh?" he quirked, never having thought before this very moment that whatever it was that banded Victoria Carrington to Blaise Zabini was anything akin to love.

Victoria found the shock in his voice to be slightly hilarious. She knew he wouldn't be the only person in the world to be surprised by that announcement. She smiled, a genuine smile, holding back her laughter, she remarked, "It's a shock, isn't it?"

* * *

_My Dearest Hermione,_

_Your letter came as the greatest surprise but a welcome one. I have not heard from you in years but I took such great joy in reading your letter. I completely understand your reasons and your convictions for putting such distance between yourself and the Zabini clan; yet, I take such joy in your remembering our great friendship. To believe that it has been three years since we have spoken is very difficult for me._

_Oh, I have so much to say yet I don't want to burden your owl with pages and pages of parchment. Father told me about your brief meeting in April, how I wished I could have been there but I'm sure the intimacy was lost with the situation that had forced the meeting. Mother is slowly recovering from an awful bug that had her bedridden for close to three months. She misses Blaise terribly and I truly wish, for her sake, that his business would send him to Italy soon, minus Victoria Carrington. _

_However, that is off the subject, on with the family news. Antonia and Montigilio have just recently celebrated their 17th wedding anniversary, he built her a new estate out on the island of Sardinia, it is massive and all together gorgeous. Octavian is the splitting image of Montigilio, they decided to send him to Hogwarts and therefore Maria was also sent there, he's fourteen and I know you wouldn't recognize the thirteen-year-old Maria, she looks so much like mother. Angelo and I are doing quite well, we still reside on his family's estate outside of Florence. My Claudio and Santo are eagerly awaiting their school year, I never thought I'd see the day when my boys were a year aways from leaving me. It's a sorrowful thought and that makes me realize that my Luciana is already seven and is wondering what kind of a wand she'll get. Oh, Hermione, one day you'll see how painful it is to have them grow-up on you. Oh, do let me stop before I ruin the ink with my silly tears. Alessandria has finally remarried, she married a German diplomat two summers ago, but she brings young Niccolo, who is nine-years-old now, to visit often and we always talk fondly of his father. Ah, and father's pride and joy, Marco is in Spain now, has been for two years enduring Mediwizard training. You should stop by and visit I'm sure he'd adore the very sight of you. Hermione, our entire family misses you with such heartfelt fervor._

_I found it rather peculiar that my brother wished to keep that petulant harpy around when she was neither wanted not needed but I have realized that my little brother has been trying to keep up a facade. I don't know exactly why my brother fell into the hole that he did but I do know that he regrets ever losing you. We've always been especially close and I've probably been the one person in the world to know, even three years ago, that he would never marry Victoria. Oh, Hermione, how do I make penance for the mistakes my brother has made? I'm sure he'd be mortified if he knew that I was attempting to petition you on his behalf but I do believe that you are the only woman for him._

_If my previous words are any indication, I'm not a big supporter of your relationship with the Knight heir. I would be if it was something that made you truly happy and I don't care how many legitmate literary publications you two appear on I will never be convinced that he truly makes you happy. Hermione, don't let the past fool you, even after all the heartache, you and he have the possibility of real happiness together. You two love each other, I've known that since the first day I met you, eleven years ago, you have always loved my brother for who he was. That's why my mother and I admired you, you knew the worst things about my brother and treasured him more for them. Now that you know the worst thing that he is capable of and the deepest darkest piece of him you are finally free. You are free to love him completely, totally, with no fear. There is finally nothing that you don't know about him and it's okay._

_Well, I must end this letter now, I am supposed to accompanying Angelo and his mother, Mariana Traversini, to some banquet hosted by the Italian Ministry. I cannot wait to see you, I do hope it won't be too much longer, I'm only five years from forty I do wish to see you before then. Ah, I know you are soon to see thirty and I do wish to be able to have you around for both our milestones. _

_All my love,_

_ Sienna Octavia Zabini Traversini_

_P. S. Do not allow your pain to allow you to skip out on real love. It's too difficult to decipher these days just to throw away._


	13. In Which Much Is Spoken Of

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter: **12

**Rating: **PG-13

**Summary: **Blaise and Hermione haven't spoken to one another in three years, suddenly they are once more apart of each other's life. When you think you can't hurt any worse, and you think your hope can never be revived, love shows up and makes a fool of you. **Not HBP Compatable**

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes: **

Bene, sarò maledetto!"Well, I'll be damned!" (Italian)

Naturalmente! Of course! (Italian)

Umm, bad news, I'm in love with Ian Knight LOLso I don't know how this will end. If this does not end happily with BZ/HG together that means it will be a sequel. If this ends happily no sequel or if it ends happily Ian could always come back in the picture. So I don't know right now, I really don't. Please let me know what you think.

* * *

**"Truth Is"

* * *

**

**Chapter 12**

**(Four Days Later)

* * *

**

"How was your birthday, mate?" Blaise asked, glancing over at the blond as they took a seat on the couches that were nearest the French doors, which had a good view of the city, from in his room.

Draco Malfoy kicked his long legs onto the quaint table in front of him as he prepared to answer. "It went well enough. A month and a half away from you lot, was probably the best part, I spent a lot of time with my mother and Ginny."

"I'm surprised Ginny didn't tell you that your birthday was one day not one month," Blaise chuckled as one of the hotel's house elves brought them their breakfast.

"She attempted," he replied, a look of completely boredom etched on his face, "however, I took the opportunity to explain to her that Malfoy's have always had extended periods of celebration, since the very founding of our family, there is no need to kill tradition now."

"Malfoy," Blaise retorted, taking a short sip of his warm tea, "your birthday was the Jun 5 and today is -- what -- the twenty-second of July!"

Draco dismissed his words with the wave of his hand, sighing loudly before taking a long sip of his coffee. "Forget all the technicalities, the most important thing is that I chose to return."

Blaise raised an eyebrow, as the tiny house elf returned with the lunch they had requested to go along with the drinks, questioning, "As if you were needed here?"

"Oh, don't act as if you don't need me, Blaise," Draco retorted, self-importance filling his very tone, "if not me who would be able to understand all the debauchery and ravenous thoughts that cross your mind?"

Blaise frowned at the slightly stuck-up young man who sat in front of him. "Nice choice of words, Malfoy."

"If they stumped you, Zabini, pick up a dictionary," he retorted, looking down at the plate that the house-elf had placed on the table adjacent to where he sat, "so where is the beautiful Miss Carrington?"

"Shopping," Blaise replied, simply, "we haven't spoken much lately and I thought it would do her good to be away from me."

"Or possibly do you good to be away from her," Draco said, knowingly, choosing not to touch a thing on his plate, his nose rising just a tiny bit at the selections that they attempted to call food.

"Both," he admitted, not wanting to push the subject, "you know that."

"Soo," Draco began, drawing out the word so as to warn his friend that he wasn't through with his prying, "had any more of those mushy heart to hearts with our favorite Bush Baby?"

Blaise raised his eyebrow, holding back his need to laugh, as he picked at his breakfast. "Bush Baby, Malfoy what are you on? They are known for their large eyes not their bushy hair, you dimwit, what is wrong with you today. And no, no I haven't talked to her in quite some time, honestly."

Draco waved him away, chuckling to himself, saying, "I only said that to get your attention. But don't you think it's time? I mean, mate, things with Victoria are clearly over, don't you want her by your side before she does the honorable, Gryffindor, thing and sticks with Ian Knight?"

"_What _do you know?" Blaise asked, pointedly, looking up at his friend. The previous words of his old friend catching his attention, he wasn't one of the smartest Wizards in the class of 1998 for no reason and he knew that Draco Malfoy never made ignorant comments unless he was trying to catch someone close to him off guard. And all it took was that and the knowledge that he had just spent forty plus days with Ginerva Weasley to sound off the warning bell in his head.

Draco rose his arms in defenselessness, his gray eyes widening, as he exclaimed, "I'm not saying that I _do_ know anything, I'm just saying that you might want to make your move sooner rather than later. That's all, mate."

Blaise glared at him, bending so that his elbows rested on his knees and he leaning toward Draco, his countenance intimidating the haughty Malfoy, growling, "What do you know, Malfoy?"

"I heard from a very reliable source," Malfoy began carefully, his cool quickly breaking under Blaise's heated stare, "nothing specific but I hear she's contemplating living up to her Gryffindor honor, Ginny let something slip about a talk with biggest Gryffindor mascot of all time -"

"Harry Potter," they both spat the same time.

* * *

Hermione stood at the doorway of a spacious flat not many miles from her hotel with the faintest feeling of apprehension settling at the pit of her stomach. She couldn't have told anyone what had possessed her to rise with the sun, take her breakfast down in the dining room, and vacate the hotel at exactly half past eight traveling in the direction of this very apartment. She thought back on her morning expedition, looking down at her watch as she waited on the willowy voice to approach the door. She frowned, thoughtfully, wondering if the ten-year-old morning person she remembered had turned into a late-sleeping twenty-year-old.

"Hullo," came a soft voice, thickly accented as the door came flying open and the thin brunette came into sight, "my I help you?'

Hermione smiled, at a loss for words, did she interrupt something? And suddenly she just began to babble, her embarrassment magnified greatly by this brunette beauty whose green eyes twinkled with kindness. "Oh, gods, this must be the wrong door! I must be daft to come visiting at such an early hour, I'm sure he's not even awake, even if this was Marco's flat. Do accept my apologies -- "

"This_ is _Marc's flat," the brunette replied, with a giggle, amazed at how quickly that halted the other woman's talking.

"Oh, wow," Hermione mumbled, her embarrassment magnified, "well, I guess I could ask if he's in."

The other woman only had time to laugh before a tall, Adonis of a young man came stepping beside her still chewing on a bagel, asking as he approached, "Who is it darling? My damnable brother isn't back is he? I told him earlier that he ought to be working -- good morning?"

"Blaise is working," she said simply, the feeling in the pit of her easing as she replaced the sight of the handsome man with her memory of a bright eyed ten-year-old that she had feel in love with the moment they met. Marco had been his brother's shadow and Hermione had seen so much of Blaise in him that she couldn't disconnect her adoration for the younger man. "At least, I think he is."

"Hermione?" Marco exclaimed, his eyes widening, as he bounded out the door, stilling holding his bagel high, and pulled her petite frame into a hug. "_Bene, sarò maledetto_!"

"Marco, Marco, Marco! What is this?" she beamed, as he pulled away and she was given time to look the handsome young man over. "My how you've grown up."

"Yea," he chuckled, giving himself time to look her over as well, "I'm in Mediwizard training now, my life is no longer just about being a Zabini heir."

"A Mediwizard? I never thought," Hermione said, as he took her hand as guided her through the door and just as she crossed the threshold she caught glimpse of the brunette who had answered the door. "Marco, do you want to introduce your friend?"

"Oh, gods, Hermione, yea," Marco sighed, flustered, as they turned to the tall, small framed young woman, "Hermione, is this my _girlfriend_, Amara Xanthopoulos, and Amara, this is Hermione Granger, and old family friend."

"It's nice to finally meet you, Hermione," Amara said with a smile, as the two women shook hands.

"It's a pleasure, Amara," Hermione replied, all apprehension gone, suddenly Marco began to lead them toward the couches.

"Would you like some coffee, tea, or I think we have some pumpkin juice, too?" Amara asked, while Marco and Hermione sat down, before she made her way back to the kitchen.

"No thanks, I've already had breakfast," came Hermione's polite reply.

"Some coffee, babe, if you don't mind?" Marco asked, as he finished off the bagel in his hand.

"I don't mind," Amara replied with a chuckle as she dismissed herself and made her way to the kitchen.

"Marco Manuel Zabini," she gushed, as she looked over at the boy now man who sat before her, "apparently three years is too long."

"It's certainly has been a long time," Marco replied, finally giving her the once over, taking in everything from her domesticated hair to the curve of her calf muscle as it compensated for the pumps she wore, "I'm sure Antonia would scold me for my lack of social etiquette but you look good, thinner, but good."

Hermione chuckled at the mention of the oldest, and most uptight, Zabini sibling; Antonia was such a stickler for social propriety that most people thought the Zabini's to be some ancient royal Italian family. "Oh, I think even Antonia would understand right now."

"Papa, told me that you worked for the Ministry and the ICW in Britain," Marco stated as he conjured up a napkin to clean his fingers of the remains of the eaten bagel.

"Yes," Hermione sighed, not wanting to think of it anymore than she had too, "well, at the turn of the year I had no idea that I'd be doing all of this, quite honestly."

"That's what Blaise said," he replied, quickly finishing wiping off his hands, deciding it was best to change the subject, "you know, I met your fiancé."

"Ian?" Hermione questioned, unbuttoning the three buttons on her blazer. "What ever for?"

"Well," began Marco as Amaya brought him his cup of coffee and then proceeded to excuse herself to the kitchen to finish work for one of her courses, "I met Ian and his father, Walton --"

"Walter," she corrected quickly.

"That's right, Walter," he chuckled, as he continued on, "because I'm doing my internship and residency at St. Mungo's and apparently Ian heads up the selection for the new candidates. He's quite a nice guy actually."

"Why England? Spain has some of the best Wizarding Medical research facilities in the world and I know any hospital in Italy would love to have one of their own working there," Hermione asked, as he began to fix his coffee exactly to his liking.

"Honestly, I chose England because of Blaise," Marco answered, before taking a long sip of his coffee, "I've been in Spain two years, none of my family lives here and going home to Italy would be going home to the hierarchy. First will always be Blaise because he's the oldest living son and then there is Antonia and Sienna, according to society, leaving me to a quiet, respectful, nod. No thank you, I chose St. Mungo's because my brother would be there and I figured we could make our own Zabini legacy in Britain."

"I do understand that," she replied, with a smile, remembering the Marco of old, the one whom that 'social hierarchy' had rendered almost silent, "I like the idea of you working for Mungo's, I'm sure you'll love it, it's one of the oldest and most advanced hospitals in the world."

"Yea, that's what I keep trying to tell Amara," Marco replied, causing a questing gaze from Hermione, "she wants to return to Greece and practice."

"Oh," moaned Hermione, biting her lip, "and you've applied to work in Britain."

"Exactly," came his reply, before bringing the cup to his lips again, "but then again things may work out, we'll just have to wait and see."

"Ever the optimist, eh?" she quipped, her eyes taking in the perfectly arranged room around her and saw the distinct markings of a well-brought up wizard.

Marco chuckled, his soft brown eyes giving her the most enchanting look that she had ever recieved from a non-romantic acquaintance. "Naturalmente! You see, I learned it from this girl I met when I was ten and I believe she was seventeen."

Hermione smiled, her mind wondering back to that warm spring morning when she had first laid eyes to last of Cara Zabini's sons, chuckling to herself, "My how things do change."

* * *

"What's going on?" Blaise asked, as he stood at the threshold of the bedroom, glancing around at the open luggage and the piles of clothing that were littering the bed and every hard surface to be seen.

Victoria glanced up at him as she pointed her wand at a drawer causing it's contents to spill into the small handbag that she held. "What does it look like, Blaise."

"You can't be leaving, Vicky," Blaise stated, as he stepped into the room, opening one of her closed bags when he reached the bed. "You said you would stay through the trip to Spain."

Victoria glared at him, cursing his use of the nickname that hadn't been used in three years and quickly zipped the bag in her hand before saying, "Honestly, Blaise, I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry."

"Victoria, why now? Why not wait until Hartley can make a formal statement to the press and do major damage control, for both of us?" he asked, quickly taking the folded clothes from the bag that he had opened and sitting them back on the bed.

"Stop that," she hissed, pushing him away from the luggage and placing her clothes back in it, "Conrad Hartley couldn't do enough damage control to make me want to stay. I am so sick and tired of doing things your way, I'm making this move on my own!"

"Conrad could make your move back to the States a whole lot easier, Victoria," Blaise replied, running his fingers through his hair. As he watched her scurry around the room, her blond locks flying about her, he wondered would it be so bad if he let this personal matter be made by him and not his Minister of the Press.

"Nothing could make going home easier, Blaise," Victoria snapped, looking up at him only long enough to send a nasty glare at him, "we still failed and I'm going to have to look my daddy in the eye and tell him I was wrong and that he was right, that you and I could never work."

"Please, Vicky," Blaise begged, calling upon an old familiarity that the two had lost early into their relationship, "for me, just stay for me. I really need the public on my side right now, my poll numbers are bad enough as it is!"

"Stop calling me that!" she growled, halting only long enough to throw a pillow his way. "Blaise, do you know how selfish you sound? If I stay and you make the announcement I'll look like the bad guy and if I leave now, making no personal statement, the blame won't be placed on anyone."

"Victoria, I know it's going to be hard with the media circus that this is going to create but we have to do this the right way, the _mature_ way," he said, as he leaned on the tall Cherry wood vanity.

"So the right way just has to benefit you? Bull, Blaise, utter bullshit! I'm so tired of living by your rules, can't you do something for me for once?" Victoria asked, halting her packing to bring her blue eyes to his troubled countenance.

Blaise bit his bottom lip as he searched her baby blue's for something that he had no name for. He crossed his arms over his chest, took a deep breath and asked, "Where are you staying tonight?"

"I'm apparating to my sisters home in New Orleans and then tomorrow I'm flooing to my daddy's estate in Texas," she whispered, looking down long enough to fold the robes that lay slain messily atop the pillows.

"Vicky," he began, sincerely, running his hand over his chin, "you do deserve to leave with your dignity. So when the time comes say whatever it is that you need to say, truth or otherwise."

"Thank you," she answered softly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips, wishing that she didn't think him so handsome when he was brooding, "but all I'll ever say is that things didn't work out the way we wanted them too, nothing more. Because I truly wanted this to work, Blaise, I truly did."

"I know you did," Blaise retorted, with a pained sigh, "and I'm sorry that I couldn't be who you wanted me to be."

"Don't apologize now, Blaise," Victoria replied, her voice full of scorn, as she closed an open drawer beside her, "it's far too late for either of us to be repentant for the wrongs we've committed. Now it's time to deal with them."

Blaise approached her, for the first time in months, without the urge to shake her, he stood next to her, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes washed over her unblemished face and her perfect figure, wondering why things couldn't have been different. He reached up to touch her cheek, watching as her eyes softened and she visibly took a sudden breath, he could remember the first time he'd noticed her attraction to him, four years before. She had been just child when they had began this game, at 18 she had been beautiful and sensual in ways that she was just beginning to understand and somehow Blaise had fallen under her spell, somehow he feared he had ruined her.

Blaise had a multitude of things pouring through his brain, after three years of living a lie, he had an encyclopedia of things he had been waiting to say when this very moment came. Yet, all he could bring himself to say was one sentence that would never be enough. "I hope you get your happy ending, Victoria Carrington."

"Me too, Blaise," she whispered, her eyes stinging with the threat of tears as his hand fell from her cheek and she thought that it would be last time that she'd ever feel his touch upon her skin, "me too."

* * *

"Hermione," Ian said stiffly, as he entered the room, removing his robes as he walked past her while she sat the wide mahogany desk in the living area.

"Ian," she replied, looking up at him, noticing the frustration straight away, she watched him silently as his jaw visibly jumped.

Ian stopped mid-stride, turning his sandy brown eyes to her, defeat written all over his face. He sighed and bit the bottom of his lip while he began to loosen the tie around his neck. He stared at her a moment before he spoke, "I'm tired of fighting, Liebe."

"I am too," Hermione answered, laying her quill on the parchment and giving him her full attention.

Ian pulled his tie off, tracing the faint lines with his fingers, as he said, "I feel like every time I say something to you or you say something to me it's going to spark an argument. And I don't like us being like that, it's not us, Liebe."

"I wish," she began, lowering her lashes in response to something akin to guilt, "I could say this wasn't my fault. I wish I could blame this on someone else or something else but I can't, Ian, I'm sorry."

Suddenly a smile came over Ian's statuesque features, the corner of his perfect lips lifting just enough to carry it to his eyes. He reached her within a moment and he took her strong chin in his hand, gazing into her eyes as he said, "You are beautiful, Liebe."

"Don't, Ian, please," she groaned, more like whined, trying her best to rescue herself from the cauldron of emotions that the man could evoke from her.

"Do what?" he asked, tracing his thumb across the sensitive skin of her bottom lip.

"Look at me like we haven't been angry with each other for the past three weeks," Hermione demanded, as she fought to control her composure and reached up to grab his wrist before he could trace her lip again.

Ian chuckled, like she was nothing more than a child and he hadn't just had the threat of defeat in his eyes. "We may have been fighting but I still loved you, no matter what happened, you know that."

Hermione frowned, she rose to attempt to face him on a level ground but that was impossible because without her pumps she was just two inches past five foot and Ian was more than a foot taller than she was. She gazed up into in his eyes and wondered how she could feel so torn, so confused. They had something so good that she could barely believe it to be true and she actually had thoughts about giving it up for something that had already burned her once. He brought both his hands up to rest on her arms, pulling her a little closer when she spoke, "I don't deserve you."

"Nonsense, Liebe," he replied, with a grin, leaning in to kiss her on the forehead, "you deserve everything you want. So talk to me, what do you want? Be honest . . . there is nothing you could say that would make me love you any less."

Hermione's eyes widened as she searched his face for some hint of deception, she found none, sighing, she realized that she never had. "Ian, when I was at Hogwarts all I wanted was to find someone to love who would love me back. And now I fear – I fear that I've found two someone's."

The look on his face didn't change, he didn't let her go, but his eyes softened and a sudden sadness filled his eyes, a sadness that Hermione had never seen before. And suddenly she felt weaker than she would ever admit, a Gryffindor woman was never one to be a weeping damsel in distress but that look in Ian's eyes honestly made her want to weep. "Liebe, if I returned to England . . . would it make your dilemma easier?"

"My mind and my heart are saying different things, Ian," she whispered, the first tear making it's trek down her cheek, causing him to pull her near, "my mind says if I get away from both of you I could figure this out but my heart, my _heart_, Ian, says that I don't want to be here without you."

"I just want you to be happy," he spoke gently, running his fingers through the tamed curls that hung down her shoulders, "and I would leave if that is what it takes."

"If I knew what would make this better, I would tell you," Hermione sighed, wrapping her arms around him, relaxing as she snuggled in the warmth of his arms, "I don't want to be unfair to you."

"I know you don't," Ian replied, kissing the top of her head as he attempted to keep himself in check, he had never imagined that hearing her say it would pain him so, "I would end it right now if I thought all of this was deliberate."

She looked up, closing her eyes once she found that she could see nothing more than his throat and the tip of his chin, asking, "Do you honestly want to be with me, Ian?"

"Liebe," he whispered, the resolve in his voice breaking as he tightened his hold on her, "I want to be with you so much it hurts."


	14. In Which Lonely Souls Meet

**Title: **Truth Is

**Chapter:** 13

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** Well, I know who my final couple is. Sequel or No Sequel? We will see when the time comes, I return to school in four weeks so I'll see if I have time to keep up a brand new story. I want to thank one of my reviewers for this chapter's plot: Queen of Serpents - thank you! I had no idea what to do with this chapter until I read your review and it just set something off! Thanks to ALL my reviewers for taking the time out to say something, every word helps! I don't know how many chapters are left but it is either one or two . . . We'll see!

* * *

**"Truth Is"**

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 13**

**(Three Days Later)

* * *

**

He was alone. The emptiness that surrounded him deafened him and seemed to suck the very air from his lungs. He was alone, his loneliness surrounded him as he reclined in a chair, his hand gripping a glass tightly, his eyes darting around the stillness. It was half past noon, on a sunny Friday evening, but Blaise couldn't tell, he could barely see the glow of afternoon in the darkness of his room. It was as if the Sun refused to enter and Blaise refused to invite it in.

Blaise sighed, sinking into the darkness that engulfed the entire penthouse, Victoria and he never spent much time together but her mere presence had been enough to keep him from dwelling too much on being alone. Ever since he had started his venture into politics he had rarely been alone enough to distinguish that vacant ache in his chest but now that Victoria had gone and all of his advisors, secretaries, and entourage were attending Santiago's indictment proceedings the ache was all too prominent. For the first time in three years he finally felt what he had been trying so hard to avoid. Tilting the glass to his lips, he flinched, it was a chasm that he himself had created.

For the first time in years he was really alone no family, no friends, no love. His family was far away from him, they saw his failings and he could never forgive himself for the shame he had caused his mother, the disappointment apparent in his father's eyes. The guilt had driven him harder, kept him away from them longer, and now, now he regretted running from the consuming comfort of his mother's arms. His friends, he frowned, he couldn't remember the last time he had any real friends, except for Draco.

It seemed when Hermione left they all left with her. The thought of her caused his eyes to flutter close, as if he was suddenly pained. Hermione. Every since that night he had felt the repercussions of their dramatic ending. The thought of her always came with the memory of that night, a night he would never forget. That rainy, saturnine, night would never fade nor die in his memory. He could see it clearly as if it were just yesterday. March 14, 2005 had been the beginning of the circus that had become his life. What had possessed him to bring Victoria to their flat?

Even now he couldn't recollect what had dared him to bring Victoria to his flat instead of going to her father's London home, as they always had. He had never let Victoria taint the world that he created with Hermione, she was special, she was separate, and the two were never supposed to mix. It had been like that for months, the deception growing like a fungus, unknown to her of course, until that stormy Wednesday night had rolled around.

_"If I go now, Hermione, I won't come back." _He could remember throwing that threat as if it was really his place to be giving anyone an ultimatum. He chuckled, darkly, as his voice boomed in his head, he had always been an arrogant man yet look where his arrogance got him, nothing but loneliness. He couldn't forget that look in her eye, slightly murderous fraught such sadness, he mentally noted that he couldn't exactly remember which one hurt him the most.

_"Do you dream of me at night?"_ He had asked her the year the war ended._ "Every night."_ She had replied, whispering, so that no one would be awakened by their late night conversation, while they lay next to each other and many others tried to rest before it was time to fight once again. That was six years ago and it was a much happier time for everyone, although a war was raging around them. The war years always reminded him of how deep their relationship had been, everyone who had been in love back then never held back, things were too uncertain, one never knew when the next day would be their last. He bit his lip, as her voice resounded in his head, he hadn't been lonely then.

_"Oh, darling, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, Blaise." _Hermione had whispered as he had sobbed into her shoulder the night that the news had come in that his brother Michele had died. The raid that ended Michele's life had occurred three days before and they had just collected his body, it had taken one look at the Ministry man who had delivered the news for Blaise's resolve to fall to pieces, he was still grieving for Niccolo. He didn't think he would stop screaming, as he fell to the ground and Hermione was there to gather him in her loving arms, it had only been two months since Niccolo's death, it was almost too much to fathom at the time. Hermione had been there, as she had promised, until he had pushed her too far and she left him, just like everybody else.

_"Remember who you are. Do not be afraid of them." _Antonia had told him when he had first returned home from Hogwarts, after bringing Hermione home for the first time. Blaise had not expected his high-strung, up-tight, excessively politically correct sister -- who, at twenty-seven was the poster girl for Italian Wizarding high society, a formally betrothed debutante who never questioned any society rules-- to understand what made his seventeen year old heart cling to Hermione.

He had been snubbed plenty of times that summer, after word about his relationship with Hermione had reached the Calabrian countryside straight from England's own Wizarding Elite, and Antonia had came to his room after a disastrous dinner party and whispered words that gave him strength. Blaise pointed his wand at his glass, it filled, thinking that he become so afraid that he had become nothing more than a puppet. His oldest sister had held her head up high, made the family proud, extended their vast connections, she married a man she didn't love and led a life she couldn't control but Blaise knew she never forgot that who she was. Antonia was strong like that, she didn't say much but when she did one would be wise to listen.

When she had been forced to marry Montigilio Catalono at the tender age of twenty-one, twelve year old Blaise had begged her to fight the contract, not understanding why anyone would marry someone they didn't love let alone even know. But Antonia did not fight, she just smiled, ruffled his mass of curls, telling him, _"I must marry according to my station and my family's will; yet, I am certain love will come one day. Do not worry, Augustus, I will be loved." _She was right, as usual, she still wasn't madly in love with Montigilio but he was madly in love with her, he worshiped her and everyone knew it.

The mere memory of her gentle voice addressing him by his middle name caused a chill to travel through him. Blaise hadn't heard anyone call him that since the last time he had seen his oldest sister, it had been too long, thinking of the distance between his siblings and himself was partly the cause of his loneliness. Blaise kept hearing their voices in his head and with every distorted memory came another stab of pain. When had he abandoned everyone he had ever loved? He couldn't recall. Somewhere, somehow, they had all fallen into the background of his so-called life.

_"I am what you have made me to be." _Victoria had cried the first time she had been accosted with the truth of Blaise's unfailing love for Hermione. Blaise shuddered violently, replacing the Vodka in his glass with something darker, richer, and far deadlier. Blaise leaned his head back on the chair, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, squeezing his eyes tight. Had he really treated her so badly? The answer brought the cup to his lips, he could feel the vast emptiness entangling him further.

Sienna had warned him this would happen, she saw it years in advance, and it had been the first time in his life that he hadn't taken his favorite sister's words seriously. She told him,_ "This political game has you trapped, Blaise, and you're gonna die if you don't break free. Maybe not right away because you're strong, but sooner or later that intensity you have, that spark that I've always adored in you, little brother, it's going to die out." _

Blaise sighed loudly, he hadn't believed her, maybe he had but he had tried not to think of it. He missed her most of all, he missed seeing her wide smile, watching her tall, lithe, frame, sweep around the room as she doted on her children. Sienna was his favorite sibling and was the only person, besides his parents, that he still kept regular post with.

_"Blaise Augustus Zabini, you are bloody brilliant! I swear the gods gave me the greatest little brother ever!" _Blaise chuckled at the memory of an overjoyed eighteen-year-old Sienna when he, at twelve years of age, had scared away a suitor almost three times her age. Life was simple then, he never knew of what he would become, he had never imagined a time in his life when he have to bear such silence. Silence, emptiness, loneliness was something that he had known nothing of as a child. Blaise was the fourth child of a family of eight, his parents were always present, he was rarely without one of his five siblings, there was a governess and a tutor around, and the estate was always bustling with some social or family function. Blaise never had time to learn what being alone really felt like.

_"Every man needs a woman and you, son, are no exception."_ His mother had written before he had decided to propose to Victoria. Cara Zabini had no love for the American Debutante but she had wished to see her son living his life without a companion and had no qualms in telling him just that. Blaise smiled as he thought of the woman who could very well be mistaken as Sienna's twin; his mother, with her chestnut hair and unworldly golden eyes, was one woman he knew he would never fall out of love with.

"I tried just any woman, mother," Blaise groaned aloud, in response to her voice in his head, resting his hand on his stomach, that was beginning react badly to the liquor, "it doesn't work like that."

_"It could have all turned out differently I suppose . . . but it didn't." _Niccolo, his oldest brother, had remarked when asked how he and his wife, Alessandria, had ended up at the alter after the scandal that surrounded their relationship. Niccolo had taken after their father, charming, romantically handsome, ambitious, and deeply chauvinistic, he had fought blindly for his family, his beliefs and as well as his country. Blaise had always wished -- even now, seven years after his death -- that he could have been more like his oldest brother. Nevertheless, fate was not kind enough to change his stars, even after going for the highest spot in English politics, and winning, he would be nothing more than the second son, a dead man's shadow.

Blaise kept playing that sentence over and over in his head, feeling his fingers loosen their grip on the glass and listening, without surprise, as it shattered, it was too dark to see the pieces glisten with the remains of his drink as they lay at rest on the floor. Sighing, he ran his fingers over his face, thinking to himself that things could have turned out differently for him too, but they didn't.

* * *

The court room was filled from the gallery on down and Hermione couldn't stop herself from searching the building for a familiar countenance. The proceeding had began as scheduled but the Supreme Mugwump had made it very clear that he wanted Britain's Minister of Magic present to be able to make a possible statement if need be. Blaise's absence was a disheartening gash in the event and if the look in her boss' eye was any indication he fully expected her to make Blaise appear before the indictment proceedings were finished. 

Hermione bit her lip nervously as she leaned back in her seat to catch her secretary's attention. They had been attempting aimlessly to get in touch with Blaise, they had sent owl after owl with no response, even Owling his younger brother. Rodion leaned forward, saying, "I found his Press Minister, Conrad Hartley, who has not seen hide nor hair of him for three days."

"Oh, gods! Why must he make himself scarce now? Now when we actually have need of his insufferable presence?" she groaned, placing her hand over the very place on her forehead where a headache brewed. "Have you seen Malfoy? I'm sure he will know something."

"He still has not arrived, Miss Granger," Rodion replied, in earnest, this latest crisis was not one that he enjoyed being part of, "I spoke the Minister's secretary, Lavender, and she says that Malfoy came to her yesterday and said that Minister Zabini needed rest for the remainder of the evening."

"How very odd, Rodion," Hermione whispered, her eyebrows furrowing as she began to consider all the options, "Malfoy has never been one to be excessively caring about another man's well-being . . . even Blaise's."

"Lavender made no indication that anything more than exhaustion had taken place, Miss Granger," he answered truthfully, for that was all that Lavender was told, "she said that Mister Malfoy instructed her to take the night off for the Minister needed a good nights sleep."

"I don't very well trust the instructions of Draco Malfoy, Rodion," she mumbled, glancing back at the entrance of the room as the proceedings went on around them, "something is not right. A good nights sleep? I don't believe it. There is a rotten pumpkin around here, I smell it, and I intended to find it."

Just as she had made up her mind to return to the hotel and seek out the suspicious blond a flash of silver caught her eye as it seemingly floated through the heavy Oak doors. She glowered at him as he cocked his head back and ignored every face that turned to him in response to his noisy entrance. Draco shifted his eyes around quickly, in search of a seat, and just as quickly as he entered he was seated beside her.

"Pleasant morning, eh?" he quipped, his face set in stony indifference, pushing a stray piece of his growning mane behind his shoulder.

Hermione shot him a look that clearly warned him that his impending chuckle would not be appreciated. "Where in the bloody hell is Blaise?"

"He's here, is he not?" Draco countered, raising a well sculpted eyebrow, yet he still did not meet her gaze.

"Do _not _patronize me, Malfoy," she growled, keeping her voice low enough not to alarm those around her but loud enough to ensure he heard the threat behind it, "where is he? Please do not waste my time in an attempt at lying, I know you went to see Lavender last evening."

Draco's perfect eyebrows lowered in an obvious frown, he sighed softly, picking a piece of imaginary lint off his immaculate robe. "Malfoys usually don't respond to idle threats, _Granger_. However, Blaise is in need of rest, Hermione, he is no fit condition to make an appearance this morning."

"No fit condition? What does that mean?" Hermione asked, her voice just seconds from panic. For some unfathomable reason the concern in his voice and the look on his face struck fear in her heart. "What is going on, Malfoy? This is his job and it is his responsibility to make an appearance here today."

"He cannot handle the weight of this responsiblity at this very moment, Granger. I regret to inform you," Draco answered, his posture rigid as he fought to hide all personal emotion from her inquiring eyes, "that there are moments when even the most powerful and important men have to deal with their own personal . . . _issues_."

Hermione sucked in a gust of air suddenly, her heart pounding in her chest, a sudden realization setting off alrms in her head. Something she had only seen one other time in her life, something that unnerved her, Draco Malfoy was worried! She fought back the urge to quickly accost him with questions and concerns, simply resigning herself to placing a frightened hand on his arm. She swallowed loudly, squeezing his arm to convey emotion that she couldn't afford to show at that very moment, in the environment that they were in. When she found her voice, the shakiness of it startled both of them, she asked, "I don't understand, Draco, what is going on?"

He sighed darkly, placing a comforting hand over hers, whispering, "I found him yesterday evening, sitting in the still darkness of his room, drunk and unable to pull himself together. It seems as if the past has finally caught up with him."

"Drunk? I've never known Blaise to drink heavily," Hermione whispered, her eyes falling to the floor searching for something that would not be found there.

Draco turned his stony countenance toward her, allowing his eyes to speak volumes, replying, "When have we known him to wallow in despair?"

"He's in terrible shape isn't he?" she asked, her big brown eyes inquiring on things she was too afraid to voice.

"Hermione," he began, his gray eyes turning from her in a moment of masculine lucidness, "it's worse than you could imagine."

Hermione removed her arm, her body suddenly ridden with fear, and turned to face the on goings of the court room. She swallowed hard, attempting to regulate her breathing that had become hitched and ragged. The room became unbearably hot as she placed a hand over heart, her mind projecting images of Blaise that visibly shook her. Hermione sat for a moment, her eyes unfocused and weary, she could only think of one thing to do but what would everyone think of it, of her? She looked up at her boss, the Supreme Mugwump, Chandler Balfour, and wondered exactly what his reaction would be if she quickly excused herself for the rest of the afternoon. She then glanced up at the gallery, quickly finding Ian sitting mesmerize by the process taking place below him and wondering what he would do when he realized that she was absent. Sighing loudly she looked over at Draco Malfoy who was watching her intently, a silent plea in his eyes.

"I need to see him," Hermione remarked, simply, her worried eyes showing a spark of determination.

Draco nodded, retorting, "He needs to see you.

She rose quickly, picking up her purse, and avoided every wayward glance as she made her way out of the courtroom. Her heart was pounding wildly as she made her way out of the ancient building, her hair flying wildly behind her, as she found a place that allowed legal apparition. Hermione quickly searched her surroundings for any followers and silently cursed the gods for allowing her to care. She smoothed her outfit, spoke a silent litany to no one in particular, and apparated with a loud pop.

* * *

Hermione stood in front of the door stoically, waiting for something, waiting to hear just the most slight movement, sound, feeling just to ease her troubled mind. She bit her bottom lip trying to rationalize the trepidation that filled her, all she could think of was: what if he isn't okay. Hermione looked down the long corridor at the only other penthouse suit on the floor and thought of how a man could easily hurt himself there without another soul knowing for hours on end. The thought frightened her, causing her heart to pound wildly, as she rose her fist up to the door, knocking so loud that it surprised her. "Blaise! Blaise, let me in!" 

No sound returned to her but she knew he sat somewhere, his eyes fixed on the door, probably wondering why she was there. After knocking on the door a few moments Hermione laid her palm on the door, something inside of calming her, reasurring her that he was not physically hurt. She sighed softly, her breathing still hitched as that moment of panic relieved itself of her, she whispered, "Blaise, please let me in."

Hermione jumped when she heard the click of the lock, she had whispered yet he still heard her. Slowly the turned the door knob and was accosted with such darkness that it took her eyes moments to adjust. She closed the door behind her, dropping her purse and wand on the table beside the door and followed the gentle breathing and the single silhouette she made out. "Blaise?"

"Watch the glass," he responsed, his voice thick and hoarse with misuse.

Hermione glanced down and sure enough she could make out the ragged edges of broken glass. Making her way around it she found the table that was placed right in front Blaise and sat down, trying to make him out completely in the sunless room. She longed to reach out and touch him but she restrained herself, as she whispered, "W-what is . . . _this_, Blaise?"

"I'm alone, Hermione," Blaise replied, releasing some guttural sound that was supposed to be laughter, "like I deserve to be."

"No," she whispered quickly, her hand reaching out to lay upon his knee, "you don't deserve to be alone."

"Oh, you don't think so?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "After everything I've done to you?"

"Who cares what you did to me! It's the past and I've forgiven you for it, now why haven't you forgiven yourself?" Hermione asked, echoing words that she had asked him weeks ago.

"If you've forgiven me . . . why haven't you come back to me?" Blaise asked, reaching his fingers out to gently touch the tip of her fingers.

She swallowed hard, feeling the tremble in her shoulders, she answered, "I-I never left you, Blaise."

"You are just being kind," he replied, sliding his fingers over her nails, with such leisure that Hermione longed to stop him, "you are still going to marry Ian Knight, I've come to terms with that."

"How do you come to terms with something that even I'm not sure of?" Hermione barked, her myriad of emotions enabling her slight temper.

Blaise finally took her entire hand in his palm, tracing the contours of her skin with his thumb, and said, "I've missed you, Hermione. You know, today I had a thought, what if I'd never met you."

"No," she retorted, softly, her wide brown eyes lined with tears as the touch of his skin on hers drove chills down her spin.

"I've never knew what it was to be lonely until I walked out on you," he continued, as if she hadn't said a thing, "I've been running and running from this great ache in my heart, until this very moment. I'm alone now, Hermione, and I deserve it."

"Blaise," Hermione spoke, the emotion in her voice very apparent, "if you really deserved to be alone would I be here right now?"

The corner of his lips rose in a sad smirk, before he answered, "You've always been the compassionate one."

"No," she replied, determined, "I'm not here out of compassion, Blaise, I'm not here because anyone told me to come. I'm here simply because you need me."

"What do you care if I need you?" he growled, letting go of her hand and averting his eyes from the cherub countenance that threatened to entangle him.

"Blaise," Hermione answered, reaching out to capture his hand in hers, causing him to return his gaze to her, "when you car--_love_ someone you go deaf, dumb, and blind, I cannot help but care."

"How do you _dare _to love a man like me?" Blaise mumbled, not noticing that some how the room had obtained enough light to cast a few shadows over his face.

"How could I not?" she retorted, a small smile taking over her features. "No matter what I do or where I go or who I'm with, I'm certain I'll love you my whole life."

"I don't deserve that," he said, almost inaudibly, his lips trembling and his eyes resting on the sight of her hand caressing his.

"You deserve that more than you do this grief," Hermione argued, her eyes somehow making out gentle downturn of his lips.

"Do I deserve your love only to watch you marry another man?" he asked, before he picked up his wand and lit all the candles in his room. Finally seeing her face made his heart clench with some jolt of lost expectation. "Gods I love you."

Hermione frowned, his words running through her mind, no man deserved that. She searched his face, silently, and suddenly it hit her, she was allowing one moment to run the course of her life. Sure she had been hurt but she had admitted, several times, that she had forgiven him and probably would have forgiven him sooner if he hadn't ran off with Victoria. She bit her lip and answered the question that everyone who knew her dilemma had been asking, she was only staying with Ian out of fear that Blaise would allow history to repeat itself. However, she knew that if Blaise was given a second chance that it wouldn't happen again, because even during those turbulent nights she had always been sure of one thing, his love. Hermione stared into his eyes and decided that she couldn't continue to allow the past to cripple her present. She forgave his deception but could she forgive herself for letting him go?

"I have to make this right," Hermione whispered, more to herself than Blaise, "can you do something for me?"

"Anything," Blaise whispered, his breath reaching her in shreds of Bourbon, Vodka, and Firewhiskey.

"I-I need a few days to-to work things out," she began, biting her lips as she paused, "I need you to get yourself together, write an Owl to your family, take a shower . . . and _wait_ for me."

Blaise frowned, his eyes washing over her figure so as not to forget what she looked like. His heart sped up, his blood turned warm in his veins, pushing him to question, "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying, Blaise, that on August 1 is Ian's and my anniversary and I don't want to celebrate it," Hermione replied, a small smile lighting up her rosy features, "I'm saying give me a few days to come back -- to _you_."

Blaise leaned in catching both sides of her face between his wide palms, he traced her full bottom lip with his thumb, watching her eyelashes flutter in sudden pleasure. Before she could speak he leaned in and captured her lips with a kiss. He could feel the electricity running down his spine, as her soft lips connected to his, and for the first time in three years he felt whole. He parted his lips a little to get a taste of her tongue, slowly moving in circles until he slowly pulled away.

Hermione exhaled softly, a quiet moan escaping with it, she was dazed, she had never been kissed like that in her whole life. He left her feeling cold, like he was the only heat in the world, like a bear without his fur, like a baby without a blanket, like he was her only warmth and comfort. His eyes twinkled and in that moment, with emotion she had never imagined before, she knew that she would never be able to walk away from him again.

Blaise smirked, leaning in to kiss the tip of her nose, before saying, "I'll see you in a week."


	15. The Beginning of the Happy Ending

**Title:** Truth Is

**Chapter:** 14

**Rating: **PG-13

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author notes:** The end! Can you believe it? This chapter was slightly anticlimatic for me but I wanted to end it alittle differently. Is it different? I doubt it, I just didn't want ya'll to complain at the corniness of it all . . . I'm EXCELLENT at corny, please be aware. I know the final part is short but I didn't want to ruin it with too many details or wordiness I just wanted the simplicity to speak for itself and allow ya'll to imagine what went on between the two parts as well as after! Plus, I want to leave something for the possible sequel! It's been a great run, more than a year in the making and I want to thank all of you for reading and reviewing (or not)!

_Scheiße - Shit (German)_

_Liebe - Love (German)_

_Liebling - Darling (German)_

_erstaunlich - marvelous (German)_

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**"Truth Is"**

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**Chapter 14**

** br br **

**(One Week Later: August 1, 2008)**

** br br **

She stood just a few feet from the immaculately set table in the center of the candle lit room, decorated throughout with Roses and Ivy leaves, her heart pounding faster with every moment she stood there. Ian had spent the entire week preparing for the celebration of their second anniversary and therefore had paid no thought of Hermione becoming more involved with her job in the days since the first court proceeding. He had done all the planning from paying for the private room -- with French doors that opened toward the historic harbor and a breathtaking view of the surrounding mountain range -- to picking out their dress robes for the evening. Ian had to been so wrapped up in planning of their anniversary that he had been totally clueless to the new glint in her eye, the distant tone of her voice. It had been the longest week of her life, she had spent seven days finding every excuse possible to go to bed after him, wake up before him, kiss him on his cheek, and never once find herself laying, wrapped up, in his arms instead of enjoying a nice hot meal for lunch.

It hadn't been a terribly hard feat, Ian seemed to believe that the slight change in their daily routine was simply because her job was becoming more stressful and their anniversary would serve as a catalyst for the neglected passion they shared. Hermione hadn't had any second thoughts, even when she would wake to find his arms clinging to her waist her resolve did not falter, she was determined to return to Blaise. After writing numerous letters to Ginny on the topic she had overcome the fear that ending it on their anniversary was not too callous. It just happen to be the most convenient day for the truth to come to light with time to spare for any needed explanations.

Although she had vowed to return to him she had not once, during the entire week, snuck off to spend an intimate moment with Blaise, a fact she was very proud of. It had been extremely imperative to Hermione -- although Ginny couldn't fathom why -- to stay true to her commitment to Ian as long as she was with him. She saw no reason to cheat on him when she was intending to leave the relationship in just a few days. Yet now that she stood just a few feet from her intended destination she now found it hard to approach the situation, it would not be as easy as she once thought. She watched him raise his wand to adjust a flower arrangement and sighed inwardly, no, this would not be easy at all.

"Are you going to continue to watch me," Ian remarked, his back still facing her as he looked around at the gorgeous room, "or are you going to join me, Miss Granger?"

"I think I'm going to join you," answered, not having to force a smile, as she slowly made her way to the table.

"Good," he smiled, turning to look at her since she first entered the room, his eyes gleaming in appreciation, "you look _erstaunlich_, Liebe."

Hermione laughed softly, enchanted by the emotion in his eyes, as she sat in front of him. "I guess you approve."

Ian gave an appreciative whistle, and a smile, before leaning over to pour her a glass of wine. "Liebe, approve is not even close."

Hermione suddenly felt nervous, so much so that she could not even muster up an adequate reply, this night was not starting off as she had imagined. He looked at her moment before pouring himself a glass of wine, he frowned a little before sitting the bottle between them. "Would it be a horrid move if I wished you a happy anniversary?"

"No," she sighed, her fingers twisting the cool material of the napkin on her lap and her eyes fighting to keep contact with his, "no, it wouldn't be a bad move. H-Happy anniversary . . . Ian."

"I do believe you have something on your mind, _Liebling_," Ian remarked, his honey brown eyes dimming in something akin to apprehension.

"I-I-I wouldn't say I have um something on my mind," Hermione stammered, suddenly feeling the need to straighten her back, "so much as something to discuss with you."

A relatively tall house elf entered the beautiful room levitating two sterling silver platters and as quickly as he entered he settled both platters on the table before exiting the room. Hermione smiled gratefully at the little creature before looking back at Ian who had, just moments before, sighed loudly and leaned forward in his seat, as if he were bracing himself for something. "Then . . . it is my duty to listen."

"Oh, how do I begin?" she whispered, with a soft sigh, more to herself than Ian.

"Tell me exactly when you made up your mind," he instructed, picking up his glass and slowly tipping it forward on his lips until the smooth liquid made its way down his throat.

"Ian," Hermione gasped, not at all expecting him to say anything along those lines, "what -- how did you . . .?"

"It's only been little more than two weeks since you basically told me you loved both Blaise and myself. Then, before that, we actually fought for three weeks straight, not including the tension that was visibly thick when we had lunch with my parents, Hermione. Ever since you took this job -- and I'm not blaming it on your job, I'm just explaining -- I've felt the strain on our relationship. So now it's time you say whatever it is that you need to say," Ian answered, before downing the rest of his glass and then reached over to grab the bottle and fill his glass again.

"In the beginning, I had no intention of doing this, Ian, it just happened," she retorted, looking into his eyes and trying to fight that feeling, that guilty feeling that made her hands tremble and her voice tight.

"Sometimes, Liebe, an accident is no accident at all," he whispered, swirling the gold colored liquid around in his glass, watching it silently before looking back up at her, "the deeper you look, the more you find."

"Ian, what are you insinuating?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows lowering as her eyes narrowed. She had not expected this change of attitude in Ian and was not about to sit here and allow him to wallow in it either.

"I'm not insinuating anything, I am saying look at the facts, Hermione. Britain's Minister was thrown into this International crisis and he just had to have you -- the ex-girlfriend he so ruthlessly hurt -- work with him, in South America of all places! Then, as time goes on, you are just pulled deeper and deeper into your work and Victoria Carrington eventually leaves him, it's just too perfect. Somehow I doubt all this is just some small Italian coincidence," Ian said his voice low and dangerous, raising an eyebrow before he lifted the glass to his lips again.

Hermione glared at him. "And I'm feeling a lot of German bitterness! You knew when we got together that I had a long and complicated past and it is a fact that sometimes the past will come back to bite us."

"_Scheiße_!" he swore, loudly as he placed his glass back on his table with a silent glare. "Your past seems to only be biting me!"

"Do _not _swear at me, Ian," she replied, tensely, biting off every word as she shot daggers at his handsome head.

Ian said nothing for a few moments, allowing his eyes to linger over her glowing face and finally allowed his pain to settle. He lowered his head, fixing his eyes on the silver platter in front of him, before saying, "Why didn't you do this before, Li--Hermione?"

Hermione bit her lip, breathing in deeply through her nose, she gazed out the French doors silently, weighing her words carefully. "I guess I always knew it would it be this hard."

"He doesn't deserve you," Ian whispered, his fingers slowly wrapping themselves along the flute.

She sent him a sad smile. "Blaise has done something's that he regrets but he's only human, we all do things that we regret."

"Is this -- us, our relationship -- something that you will regret one day?" he asked, his softened eyes making their way to her flushed countenance.

"No," Hermione whispered, her lithe fingers making their ways to her full lips, "I always meant it when I said I love you."

"So what is this? Now you don't love me anymore?" Ian retorted, the pain in his eyes reminding her of the sight she saw every morning for months after Blaise and she broke up.

"It's not that -- not at all -- I still love you but I could never marry you with my heart still crying out his name. I do not want you to play second best and then make you miserable because I am denying myself the love that I want so badly to partake in," she answered, honestly, her eyes begging him to understand.

Ian reached across the table to take hold of hers, he held it firmly for a few moments before speaking, his eyes taking hold of hers once more. "No matter what happens I will never know anyone better or sweeter than you. Liebe, you are my dream."

"Ian --" she whispered, chills running up her spine as she searched for the right words to say, sighing softly when she found none.

"No," he whispered, his thumb running soft, slow, races across the palm of her hand, "I don't want you reply to that, I just want you to know, no matter what, I still love you."

"Ian," Hermione spoke gently, her dark brown eyes lined with unshed tears, "things won't always feel like this . . . you won't always have to love me."

"I don't _have _to love you, Liebling," Ian remarked, a sad smirk settling upon his lips, his eyes dancing from their hands to her lips and back to her eyes, "I choose to."

"Do you understand that I love Blaise the way you love me?" she asked, feeling the weight of his hand lessen the moment she spoke those words.

Ian chuckled, shaking his head, the smirk sliding from his lips as he replied, "I don't understand it -- I don't think that I ever will -- but I get it, I honestly get it."

"Ian --" Hermione began but was quickly interrupted by the handsome German.

"May I ask you a question?" he asked quickly, pulling his hand away from hers as he spoke.

"Of course," she answered, her voice soft and slightly unsure, she glanced at the clock on the wall and wondered when this complicated night would be over.

"What is it about . . . your past that makes it so much better that what we shared?" Ian posed his question while twirling his thin wand around his lithe fingers.

Hermione sighed, as she sat up in her seat, pushed her thick hair from her face and sought for the best words to say. She ran her fingers through her hair before she began to speak, "I wouldn't say that it was better . . . honestly, I love him with so much of my heart that none is left to protest. I know he hurt me and you were there to heal that hurt and in the process we fell in love; yet, I fear my love was only taking advantage of you."

"You never took advantage of me," he whispered, picking up his glass and tilted it slowly toward his lips.

"I'm still not so sure of that," she whispered, giving him a short smile, "but I could never forget that Blaise was good, strong, and ultimately, the first man I ever really loved. No matter how angry I was at him or how deeply I felt for you I could never entirely forget how wonderful and special ours years together were. And for that I am deeply sorry that I drug you along for the ride."

"Don't apologize," he replied, his eyes meaning every word, "it was my pleasure, Lie -- Hermione."

"Thank you for always being there," Hermione said, her fingers reaching out to meet his and when they met, he smiled for the first time that evening.

His fingers felt their way across the soft corners of her hand, as he replied, his voice deep and somber, "Just remember that I will always be there, if it's five years or fifty, if you need me, I'll be there."

Hermione smiled as she pulled her fingers from his intoxicating touch, picked up her wand, and replied, "I should go."

They both stood as the finality of her words bounced off the walls around them. She stood stoically next to her chair as Ian made his way to her side, his hand reaching out to grab hers. He fingered the ring that still resided on her left hand, whispering, "Keep it."

"No, I should --" Hermione began, as she attempted the retrieve the ring from her finger she was quickly halted when his lips caught hers. He slowly massaged her lips with his before pulling away and laying his forehead against hers. She breathed deeply, trying to even out her breaths, while her hands clung to his elbows allowing her to remain standing.

Ian's hands cupped her hips and he struggled not to pull her to him. His eyelids fluttered as he struggled to fight the memories, they hadn't had a kiss like that in almost three years and he yearned to return to those days but it was impossible. That kiss was the end. Ian released his hold on her body and quickly picked up his glass and made his way to the French doors, inhaling the crisp night air. "You should go."

Hermione took a deep breath and headed for the door, stopping only to say, "Ian, sweet things are even sweeter when you also live with some sour."

_-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

Hermione stood on the balcony her hands laying upon the strong brown fingers of Blaise Zabini. Blaise stood contentedly behind her, his arms wrapped around her and his cheek laying upon her gentle mass of hair. Their eyes were both fixed on the harbor that was flanked by mountain ranges, their thoughts drifting off to similar places. It hadn't taken Hermione any time to find herself at Blaise's door and it had only taken a moment for him to welcome her in with open arms. Their lips had meet for mere seconds as their hearts began to reunite, he smiled, she laughed, he chuckled, she blushed, and the world began to revolve again.

Blaise took a deep breath, tightening his hold on her as he whispered, "I never thought that I would get to live this day."

"Life is truly amazing," Hermione replied, strands of her hair blowing away from her face as the soft breeze caught hold of them, "it's the one thing you cannot predict."

"I beg to differ, Miss Granger," he chuckled, his voice gentle voice meeting her ear, "there is one thing that I will always know: you will always be a good Gryffindor girl."

"And will you always be a good Slytherin boy?" she asked, her eyes closing as she leaned in to his embrace.

"I never was," Blaise replied softly, before kissing her gently on the forehead, the honesty in his words landing like a cushion on their thoughts.

"Blaise," Hermione began, her fingers tangling themselves with his, "I'm so glad that our absolution has come, I was fearful that we would wait our whole lives and never see it."

Suddenly he turned her toward him, forcing her hair to whip around her head, as it fought with the breeze, leaving her looking more like an angel than a woman. Their faces were mere inches from each other as Blaise spoke, "I would not have allowed my whole life pass by without attempting to reconcile, I would _not _have rested in the after life if I didn't try."

Hermione was serious for a moment, the sincerity of his words sinking in before she suddenly leaned her head to one side and asked, "How do you know how you would have rested? It's entirely impossible to say with any authority what you would have done --"

"Hermione," Blaise exclaimed, interrupting her cute comment that quickly turning into a tirade, "I'm pouring my heart out here!"

"I know, I know," Hermione whispered, a sly smile lifting her lips before she cupped the back of his neck and shut him up by kissing him gently, "and truth is I love you too, Blaise Zabini."


End file.
